Evolution
by Cat Jenkins
Summary: Spencer Reid's headaches are gone, but the visions are something else. He's changing, evolving... Hotch has dealt with lots of things that make his skin crawl, but this is uncharted territory. He doesn't have any precedent to lead him. He doesn't know how to help. He's scared. Almost as scared as Reid.
1. Freak

Spencer Reid had been trying to hide the strange evolution of his mind for months, but the feed store tricked him. It lulled him with its folksy atmosphere and peaceful, country aura. He let his guard down in front of two of the most observant profilers the FBI had ever known.

If Hotch hadn't wanted to buy birdseed…in bulk no less…and if Rossi hadn't said that there were probably things like baby chicks and ducks and at least one or two cats in residence at every rural feed store, Reid might have stayed in the SUV. He might have read one of the books he always carried when the team had to travel. He might have gone for a short walk along the two-lane highway. But he'd never been to an honest-to-God feed store and it sounded interesting. So he accompanied his friends inside.

Things would never be the same.

Hotch was budget-conscious. He was acutely aware that he wanted his son to enjoy a college education; something that cost an astronomical amount which would only increase in the fourteen years it would take Jack to attain college age.

Hotch bought in bulk whenever possible.

The Unit Chief was still discovering ways to enjoy his new townhouse. He thought Jack would like putting up some birdfeeders and watching the species that patronized them change with the seasons. So when they were traveling home from a case that had ended in the sad ruins of an antique farmhouse and Hotch saw the life-sized plastic horse with the 'Feed-n-Seed in Bulk' sign propped against it, he'd pulled in. Rossi and Reid went with him.

It was a dusty, pleasant store where a man in a suit looked as out of place as Christmas wrapping on the Fourth of July. While Hotch inspected sacks of seed stacked against a wall, Rossi and Reid wandered. They were grinning down at bins of fluffy chicks the color of dandelions, tumbling and cheeping under the warmth of incubator lights, when Hotch approached the check-out counter.

"Can I get the fifty pound sack of sunflower seed mix?" He nodded toward the wall where his chosen purchase was lumped among bags of unshelled peanuts and containers of cracked corn.

"Sure." The woman behind the counter had 'farm' written all over her. Faded jeans, frayed t-shirt, and well-worn boots clad a frame that devoted its days to physical labor. Her co-worker looked equally competent, with the exception of a baseball cap covered in pink and white sequins. Hotch considered asking where he could get one. Garcia would love it.

"That'll be twenty dollars on the nose." The clerk rang Hotch's purchase up on an old-fashioned adding machine. Hotch found that charming.

"Do you need help loading it?" the second woman asked. He didn't find it charming to be asked if he needed help lifting fifty pounds. Hotch was still a little self-conscious about the physical ordeals he'd endured during the last year. And Morgan kept reminding him that gaining 'a few more pounds wouldn't hurt.'

"No, I can handle it. But thanks." The gratitude wasn't sincere, but Hotch was a gentleman and would never abandon courtesy just because someone made him feel…well,…_skinny, frail_.

Seeing their leader was paying, Rossi and Reid ambled over. Rossi stood beside Hotch. Reid moved closer to the counter, bracing his hips against it as he leaned over to see what was attached to the portion of calico fur he'd glimpsed, but which wasn't fully visible.

It was the promised cat-in-residence. Reid grinned at the largest cat he'd ever seen.

"Hey, kitty." He reached over and extended a hand toward the creature regarding him with perfect feline indifference. It was clear the animal didn't need any new friends and had no interest in expanding its social circle.

"That's a big cat. What's its name?" Reid continued trying to make a favorable impression on the object of his query. _Jasmine_. He heard it as clearly as the traffic outside; as clearly as the cheeping of the baby chicks.

"Jasmine? That's an interesting name for a cat. Hi, Jasmine. How ya doin'?"

It was then he became aware that aside from the ambient noise of traffic and chicks, everyone had frozen. He felt…_watched_. He raised his head and returned the stare of the two women. A sidelong glance told him Hotch was fixated on him as well, his arm's motion arrested as he extended a credit card across the counter. Rossi's eyes were fastened on him, too.

"What?" Reid pulled his hand back and straightened. Silence. _Stunned_ silence. "Guys? What?"

Sequin-hat girl swallowed. "The cat's name _is_ Jasmine, but we didn't say anything." Reid's eyes tracked nervously from person to person.

The other woman nodded. "I was _thinking_ 'Jasmine,' but I didn't say it."

"Me, too." Both clerks continued to stare.

"I heard someone say 'Jasmine.'" Reid mumbled. He turned his back on the women, shoved his hands in his pockets and sneaked surreptitious looks at his two colleagues.

Rossi recovered first. He put a hand on Hotch's back and gave him a gentle pat. Hotch broke his disconcerting stare with a start and tapped the credit card on the counter top, regaining the attention of the young ladies.

"Reid, go take that bag of seeds out to the car." Rossi thought it best to remove the young agent. The women looked as though they'd be happier if the entire trio left. The sooner the better. Sequin-hat looked downright scared. Reid slouched over to the stacked sacks, shouldered one and pushed his way through the door to the parking lot.

Hotch accepted his receipt from the numb-looking clerk, thanked her and turned away.

"How did he know that?!" The two agents heard sequin-hat hiss at her co-worker. Wary silence followed them as they left.

Rossi put a restraining hand on Hotch's arm. "Not a word, Aaron. I wanna try something." The Unit Chief nodded; he was still trying to figure out what this all meant. His sincerest hope was that Reid's Las Vegas background was in play; that he was demonstrating some weird, clairvoyant parlor trick. But he wasn't doing a good job convincing himself.

Reid had his back turned and was wrestling the bag of seed into the SUV when his superiors approached. Rossi stopped a few feet behind him, out of his field of vision. He raised an arm, catching Hotch at the waist and barring him from moving closer. Hotch gave the elder agent an uncertain look, but kept silent, as requested. Reid gave a final shove, pushing the seeds to the rear of the vehicle. He backed out of the opening and rested both hands against the chassis.

"I don't know, guys." He sounded miserable. "I really heard her say 'Jasmine.'" He rubbed his eyes with one hand and turned to face the concerned looks of his friends.

"I didn't say anything just now." Rossi looked grave. Hotch felt he was missing something. His eyes flickered between the two.

Reid stared at the ground, refusing eye contact. "I heard you say 'What happened,' Rossi." When he did look up, there was a challenge in his gaze.

Hotch shook his head. "No one said anything, Reid. Not here and not in the store."

For a few minutes, Reid stared into the distance, enduring the scrutiny of the others. Rossi broke the silence.

"What is it, kid? What's going on?"

"I don't know, I don't know." Reid turned back to the SUV. "Can't we just go home?"

Rossi and Hotch exchanged glances.

"Reid, if something's happening to you, we want to help." Hotch's voice was as soothing as he could manage.

"You can't."

Rossi decided on a different tack. "Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what…this…is? What you are?"

Reid closed his eyes and surrendered his deepest, most debilitating belief. "I know what I am, Rossi. I'm a _freak_."

The drive back to Quantico was silent, except for Reid. He could hear all sorts of things the others couldn't.


	2. Heart---Felt

"My office."

It was the first thing Hotch had said since Reid called himself a 'freak' over an hour ago. Rossi and the young doctor followed their leader from the garage, to the elevators, and through endless corridors to the BAU.

"Hey! What took you guys so long? We thought you got lost or something." Prentiss looked up from paperwork that never seemed to diminish. No answer. The three agents stalked past her. She turned toward Morgan. Garcia was perched on the edge of his desk, doing her best to distract him from his work.

"Jeeezz! Something I said?"

Morgan shook his head. "Something's going on." He leaned back and craned his neck, catching J.J.'s eye through her open blinds. He pointed his chin toward Hotch's corner office and raised his eyebrows at her. J.J. came out onto the catwalk and followed Morgan's gaze. When Rossi and Reid were inside, Hotch's door closed. J.J. looked at her co-workers in the bullpen and shrugged. When the blinds were drawn, no one had any doubt that something had happened on the drive home. Everyone took refuge in looking busy. Garcia scurried back to IT after eliciting a promise from the others to keep her in the loop.

Hotch pulled the blinds, even knowing it would fan flames of speculation in the bullpen. He was stalling. A conversation was necessary, but he had no idea how to begin or what to say. When Rossi and Reid had settled into the leather armchairs facing him, he retreated behind the security of his desk. Seeing his boss ill at ease didn't do anything to reassure Reid. All he could do was stare at his feet, flicking worried glances at Hotch every few seconds. Finally, the Unit Chief took a deep breath and began.

"Reid…what…how…I…I mean…" He took an even deeper breath. "Reid…_what the hell?!_"

Rossi held up a hand. Older, cooler heads would prevail here. Even if that older, cooler head was spinning with the implications of what had happened.

"Reid, can you tell us anything about what's going on with you?"

"I told you. I'm a freak. I'm just getting freakier." He sounded defeated.

Rossi and Hotch exchanged looks. At their stage of the game, it was akin to exchanging strategies, too.

"Has this happened before?" Hotch regained his professional balance and decided to conduct himself as though he were in the field, interviewing a witness.

"Not exactly."

"Explain, Agent." He hoped a touch of authority would move things along. It did.

"I can't." Reid gave his leader a tortured look. "It's like dreams, only…not. Sometimes I'll see things. I know they're not real, but the longer I 'look' at them, the more detailed them become and…and then I…I feel like I'm getting pulled into them and I get scared and they kind of…melt…disperse." He expected skepticism, but Hotch and Rossi emanated only concern. "Now I'm starting to hear stuff, too, I guess." Reid sat up straighter. "I'm not crazy, Hotch…I don't know _what_ I am anymore. But I'm not crazy." A catch in his voice underlined Reid's sincere hope that this was an accurate assessment. And a small, terrified doubt that it wasn't.

Rossi leaned forward. "Do you know when it started?"

"I think it had something to do with…you know…Dilaudid." His discomfort discussing his drug-addicted past was extreme.

Hotch rescued him, redirecting the inquiry. "Is there anything that sets it off, or is this something that happens all the time?"

"No! No, it's not 'all the time.' I can't control it at all. It's…Hotch, I'm scared."

"Breathe, Reid." Hotch waited until the junior agent had done so. "What can you tell us about the 'when' of it? Is there any trigger?"

Reid was calmer. He looked Hotch straight in the eye. "Sometimes it happens when I'm tired. Like now. Or scared. Kind of like now, too. And I'm not sure, but I _think_ if I touch things…or people…it gets stronger."

Hotch swallowed. "Okay. Touch me." He came out from behind his desk and sat on the front edge. He gave Rossi a single, nervous look and then followed his own advice, reminding himself to breathe.

Reid licked dry lips and stood up, inches away from his boss. He looked at the ground, frowning. "I feel…sadness…whenever I come close to you, Hotch."

Rossi shrugged. "Given what he's gone through in the past year, I'd say that's a safe bet. What else?"

"I'd have to touch him."

"You can touch me." Hotch braced himself for…he didn't know what.

Reid placed a tentative hand on his leader's shoulder. Silent tension gripped the room until Rossi spoke.

"Wait a minute. You're touching his shirt, Reid. Is that gonna work?"

"I don't know. I've never done this before."

"Best guess then."

Reid looked even more unhappy. "I think I need to touch his skin." Hotch unbuttoned a cuff and rolled up the sleeve, baring his arm to the elbow. Reid closed his eyes for a moment. "I think I need to touch over your heart, Hotch."

"You heard the doctor; strip to the waist, Agent." The Unit Chief glared at Rossi. It sounded as though he was enjoying this a little too much. With a long-suffering sigh, he slipped out of his tie, his shirt and pulled his undershirt over his head. He still didn't like exposing the scars Foyet had carved into him. He thought closing the blinds was probably the best decision he'd made all day. Maybe all week.

"Okay, Reid. Do what you need to do." Hotch closed his eyes and waited. After a moment he felt a hand on his chest. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but the hand just felt still and warm; not threatening or powerful at all. He opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into Reid's. But there was no recognition. Reid wasn't really seeing him. He was somewhere else. When tears began to stream unchecked down the doctor's perfectly impassive face, Hotch turned an anxious eye on Rossi. The older agent stood up and pulled Reid's hand back.

Reid blinked a few times. He wiped at his face, disoriented, unable to grasp the meaning of the moisture on his fingers. He looked Hotch up and down once, and dropped into a chair.

"God, Hotch. You went through hell. I knew. I mean, we _all_ know. But, the pain. My God." Reid bent over, burying his face in his hands. "And you're still not completely…free…of it. You might never be."

Hotch's only response was to slip back into his t-shirt, slowly, covering the scars that were a testament to sadism. Rossi stood by Reid's side.

"What was it like?"

Reid sucked in air and shook his head. "Really bad. The thing is, I _think_, I'm not sure, but I _think_ I felt what Hotch did, but…all at once. It wasn't spread out over months the way he experienced it. It was like a tidal wave. Just all this pain and grief. Rossi, he almost didn't make it."

Rossi thought for a moment before responding. "Would you be willing to…see…someone about this?"

Reid's reply was sharp. "I told you: I'm not crazy. I don't need a psychiatrist."

"I was thinking more along the lines of someone who's knowledgeable about things like this; who spends time researching things like this."

Reid looked up. "You know someone?"

"Maybe." Rossi smiled in response to the shift from tired irritation to faint hope ghosting across the doctor's face. "You meet a lot of different people when you've been in the field as long as I have. Let me see what I can do."

Hotch pulled himself back from where he'd been lost in his own thoughts. "Go home, Reid. Try not to worry. We'll figure this out."

The residents of the bullpen watched as Reid dragged himself down the stairs and continued past them without stopping to chat or address any of the paperwork that awaited them all at the end of every case. Looking up, they saw Rossi and a jacket-less, shirt-less, tie-less Hotch standing in the Unit Chief's office doorway, tracking Reid's progress.

"Huh…" Prentiss tilted her head in speculation. "So Hotch undressed and Reid's going home early." She squinted at the duo in the doorway. "…And Rossi watched. Huh."

Morgan chuckled. "You're bad, Emily. Don't let them hear you."

"So whatever this thing is happens when he's tired or scared." Rossi's voice was low, private. "He's scared right now." He sighed, turned and looked Hotch over. "Some day, huh? How are you holding up?"

"I'm scared, too. Holy crap, Dave. What's happening to him?"


	3. Alone

Spencer Reid slept it fits and starts. He felt as though his mind was emptying itself of the images of the day. The fat calico cat named Jasmine watched him with haughty insolence. Hotch's scars were acquired, stroke by bloody stroke. He felt his arms embrace dead Haley and slammed awake to find tears leaking from his eyes and blood from the corner of his mouth where he'd chewed through his lip, a horrified captive audience to his own visions.

By morning he was still tired and anxious; both conditions that made him more vulnerable to this new…quirk?...his brain was manufacturing. Reid guzzled coffee with plenty of sugar and decided he might as well go in early to the BAU. Yesterday's paperwork was still waiting for him and the office coffee was stronger than his home brew. Banishing, or at least minimizing, his fatigue with more caffeine sounded like a good idea. He didn't want to trip up again and clue anyone else in on his…condition?..._Maybe if I keep quiet and nothing else happens, it'll go away on its own. Maybe everyone will just forget about it_. Reid rubbed his eyes. Unlikely. Especially with Hotch and Rossi in the know about his…weirdness?..._Freakdom!_ The internal shout he'd been hearing all his life was louder and clearer all the time.

Reid sighed and rinsed out his coffee cup. He'd always suspected that in the end, his mind would be his downfall.

Hotch hadn't slept well either. He could deal with illness or misadventure, but he didn't even know what to call Reid's predicament. It was surreal. Nothing in his experience as a profiler had ever touched on unfathomable mental abilities. _Probably because they don't exist_, he thought as he gave up on sleep and decided he might as well go in to the office.

Then he remembered he had to take Jack to school. No more impromptu early mornings at work. Single daddies had to plan ahead for things like that. He took his rumpled self down to the kitchen and started the coffee brewing. Two scoops of grounds. His fuel-of-choice needed to be diesel-strength today.

He sat at the kitchen table and sipped the thick, coal-black liquid. The one avenue of hope he could see was if Rossi had a connection who could help explain Reid's bizarre, new talent. Hotch decided that was enough for the moment. He would compartmentalize this item so it wouldn't usurp the rest of the things that required the attention of a BAU Unit Chief.

His eyes wandered to the corner where the gigantic fifty pound bag of bird seed slumped against the wall. _Damn. Forgot to get a bird feeder_.

Somehow he knew it was going to be a long day.

Rossi waited until an acceptable hour to make the call. At least that's how he characterized delaying it to himself, instead of admitting to a bone-deep reluctance to accept Reid's behavior as an authentic instance of ESP.

Rossi hated ESP. He'd given extra sensory perception a chance once and had paid the price…or rather, an innocent child and his family had paid for his folly. After following the leads provided by a self-purported psychic, he'd managed to misdirect an entire investigation. When the correct trail had been picked up again, it was too late. It had ended at a twelve-year-old's pathetic corpse.

On the spot, Rossi's conditional belief in the paranormal had wilted into a dried husk. Then it had blown away. But he couldn't deny something was going on with Reid. Impressive as his reaction to touching Hotch had been, Rossi still had to consider that everything their leader had experienced was common knowledge among the team. It was possible that Reid had internalized sympathy for his boss and yesterday's performance was just a reflection of that process.

That's what Rossi told himself. It's what he held on to. Even as his phone connected with the Paranormal Investigation Center in New York.

After listening to the automated please-don't-call-us-if-you're-just-weird greeting, Rossi pressed '0' repeatedly until the system acknowledged his determination to speak with a real person.

"Paranormal Investigation Center. How may I direct your call?" Rossi shuddered. The voice was oddly androgynous and completely indifferent.

"Carol Bescardi, please." The only way this researcher of the inexplicable had managed to fly under Rossi's anti-ESP radar was by virtue of being Italian. And kind of pretty in an otherworldly, haunted sort of way.

"One moment please." The disturbingly sexless voice initiated about ten seconds of mechanical clicking that made Rossi think of Hollywood aliens speaking in digitally manufactured cadences.

"Bescardi." He couldn't help smiling. There was nothing sexless about _this_ voice. It sounded like warm, red wine sipped at sunset on a hill in Tuscany. What he liked even better was that, although it promised the flesh, this voice delivered some of the sharpest, most realistic, ESP-my- butt, debunking verdicts he'd ever encountered. He had met the paranormal researcher shortly after the case when he'd allowed psychic advice to lead him astray. He had needed someone to talk to who could validate both his error in believing, as well as his newfound skepticism. With her Italian heritage and not inconsiderable personal charms, Carol had been just what the doctor ordered.

"Hi. It's David Rossi."

"Dave! It's been a while. You must need something, yes?"

His smile grew to a grin. Carol always cut to the chase. "I need something…yes."

"Ah. Tell me."

"Well, I have this kid I'd like you to test…"

"Victim or suspect?"

"Neither. It's kind of complicated. Let me explain."

Hotch arrived at the BAU to find Reid already at his desk, pushing paper with a vengeance. He hesitated as he passed the doctor's desk, finding a new discomfort in confronting him. _The guy's been in my head, or heart, or…whatever. How much of me does he know now?_ But Reid's anxious expression made Hotch set aside personal concerns. This was a valued, even cherished, team member in trouble. And Hotch could never ignore a situation that made him feel needed. It was one of his own personal quirks.

"Morning, Reid. How'd you sleep?"

"Weird. But that's my whole life lately, isn't it?" It wasn't really a question.

Hotch couldn't come up with anything wise, so he settled for sincere. "It _is_ weird. But at least you're not alone. I won't lie: I'm a little scared about this and where it's all gonna lead. But you're not going anywhere alone. _It's_ weird. _You're_ not. That's how I feel anyway."

Reid gave him a tired smile. It embodied appreciation, not mirth. "Yeah, but, Hotch, what if you can't follow where I go?"

"What do you mean?"

The doctor pushed his chair back, the better to look into his boss' eyes. "Remember when I said it could feel like I was being pulled into the things I was seeing?" Hotch nodded. "Yesterday when I touched you, it felt like that. It's irresistible. Seductive, almost." Hotch looked puzzled. Reid swallowed and took the plunge, spelling out a new facet of fear to add to his growing collection. "What if I get lost in it? What if I can't come back? Where will that leave me? Lost in someone else's experiences?" He closed his eyes. "Your memories were so strong, they almost…swallowed…me. Imagine being trapped forever in a cycle consisting of Foyet stabbing you and killing Hayley."

"God, Reid, I can't even begin…I can't even _let_ myself imagine that."

"I _can_ imagine it. I could almost feel it happening. Hotch, the bottom line is, you can't have my back, because you can't follow where I go anymore." Reid turned back to his work. "No one can."


	4. ESP-er Outed

Rossi's arrival was like a break in the clouds.

Hotch had retreated to his office, mulling over Reid's lonely concerns. Morgan and Prentiss had tried to engage the young agent in conversation, but he'd avoided giving anything more than courteous, curt replies. J.J. had noticed the futility of the others' attempts and had simply ruffled his hair on her way to her desk where she immersed herself in graphic depictions of all the horrors men could inflict on their brethren. Garcia had trotted through the bullpen, felt the dour atmosphere, done an about-face, and returned to IT.

But Rossi was all sunshine and hope.

He tapped Reid on the shoulder and tilted his head toward Hotch's office.

"Come on, kid. Time to talk." Reid followed the older agent up the stairs, stumbling a little, weariness affecting his coordination.

The door closed, but this time the blinds didn't.

Prentiss tapped a pen against her teeth and glanced at Morgan. "So what's your take? I can't see Reid doing anything seriously bad."

Morgan pushed back his chair and stretched out, feet on top of his desk. "Reid can do bad. He just doesn't usually get the opportunity." Both agents watched the assemblage in Hotch's office for a few minutes.

"You think they'll clue us in?"

Morgan shook his head. "I have a feeling this one's already on Hotch's need-to-know list." He sighed. "We'll just have to wait."

Prentiss echoed his sigh. "I hate waiting."

"Know your adversary. We're flailing around with no idea what we're dealing with. I think I found someone who can help us at least put a name, a label, on this…thing."

What Rossi said made sense. Reid felt a glimmer of hope, but was still anxious. Hotch took his cue from the doctor and perked up a little. If his team was good, he was good.

"Reid, you've said it yourself: the unknown is the most frightening aspect of any situation. And the way to deal with the unknown is to…" Rossi looked from one pair of brown eyes to the other, but both looked too tired to play the complete-this-sentence game. "…unveil it; take away the mystery."

"Who did you find?" Hotch didn't want a lesson; he wanted official, professional reassurance that the world and its people still functioned in predictable, logical ways. And he wanted to quell the vague stirrings in his gut that made him nervous, as of yesterday, to be around his youngest team member.

"I found Carol Bescardi. She works at the Paranormal Investigation Center in New York. I've known her for a while and she's a level-headed scientist, not some f-flake." He'd almost said 'freak,' but caught himself, knowing the word was already too prominent in Reid's personal lexicon.

"So what's next?" Hotch was too cautious yet to be as upbeat as Rossi.

"So next, our young doctor has an appointment at the Center this afternoon." Rossi checked his watch. "Unless you care to take a night train coming back, I suggest you grab your go-bag and the next commuter flight, and spend the night in New York."

Reid nodded. "Thanks, Rossi." He stood, but before leaving he turned back. "So this time tomorrow we should know what's going on, right?"

"Depends on what they find, kid."

Reid rubbed his eyes. "Yeah… 'what they find.'" He gave Hotch a tired smile. "I really can't stop, Hotch; not until I know what it's all about."

After he'd left, Rossi looked at the Unit Chief and raised an eyebrow.

Hotch licked his lips. "I was thinking 'don't worry.'"

Some of Rossi's optimism drained away. "Too bad you didn't say it out loud."

If you had to describe Spencer Reid in one word, there were lots of options. J.J. would say 'sweet.' Garcia's choice would be 'innocent.' Prentiss would opt for 'shy.' Morgan would gravitate toward 'genius.' Reid himself, unfortunately, would stick with 'freak.' But Hotch and Rossi would have hit the nail on the head and picked the most salient feature of Reid's extraordinary brain… 'curious.' Although, Rossi might have finessed the description into two words and gone with 'immoderately inquisitive.'

It was curiosity that made the young agent get on the plane when what he really wanted was to hide. He toyed with the idea of jumping a flight to Las Vegas and holing up in the vicinity of the mother he loved, but feared had bequeathed him some mental aberration.

In the end, Reid couldn't resist the opportunity to explore new territory, even if the landscape in question resided within his own skull. So he and his go-bag flew into Newark Airport and caught the next available train into Manhattan and Penn Station. Rossi had sent the Center's address and Carol Bescardi's contact information to Reid's phone. He had no trouble finding her. A short cab ride ended his journey at the door of a plain, brick building. An innocuous brass plaque was engraved with the letters PIC. Beneath the acronym it said 'Choose to lift up your eyes, from the hills to the skies." Reid wasn't sure what that meant in this context, but it shivered his skin, just the same. He took a steadying breath and walked into the lobby.

The brick exterior belied the stainless steel, antiseptic chill of the interior. Reid found it reassuring. He'd been harboring uneasy expectations about gypsy fortune tellers, velvet curtains and incense. But this was a medical facility. Sterile. Serious. Sober. Sane. The directory by the elevators told him to go to the eleventh floor for Dr. Bescardi.

Reid rode up, found office number 1106 and entered. A smiling receptionist told him to have a seat. The forms she gave him to fill out were very basic versions of health questionnaires and privacy statements. Before he had finished, a door opened and his name was called. Still carrying his go-bag, Reid approached the waiting woman. She wore a lab coat over slacks and a sweater. Her olive skin and dark hair spoke of Mediterranean heritage. Her features had the overstated elegance Reid appreciated and associated with certain women of Italian or French descent. Hers was a face that bypassed 'pretty' and went straight for 'striking.' This had to be Rossi's contact.

She studied him as he neared. "Dr. Reid. I'm Carol Bescardi. I'm very interested to meet you. Do you shake hands?"

Taken aback, Reid blinked. "Uh…sure." He extended his right hand. Bescardi took it in a warm, firm grasp and finally smiled.

"I only ask because some of the people I see are very reluctant to endure physical contact." She released his hand.

"I'm fine with shaking hands." The young agent was determined to appear well-adjusted and normal.

"Good. This way, please." She did an abrupt about-face and marched down a corridor bathed in muted, incandescent illumination. The lobby had been cold and sterile. The décor and ambiance of this particular office spoke more of serenity, of calm. Reid wondered if it was a reflection of taste or of clinical necessity. He imagined research subjects would be more receptive if they were lulled by peaceful surroundings. The thought made him put his guard up. He gave himself a stern reprimand: Rossi had gone to a lot of trouble to connect him to this facility. It was for his own good. He should have no qualms about cooperating.

_I'll save the qualms for afterwards…when they tell me what they've found._

They arrived at a carpeted room furnished with dusty, sage green, plush chairs and a couch. The doctor motioned for Reid to take a seat and followed suit, crossing her legs and clasping her hands around the uppermost knee. Reid noticed she wasn't equipped to take notes.

"I should tell you our mutual acquaintance, David Rossi, has already informed me of your situation. But I would like to hear your account. The more you tell me, the more accurately and efficiently I'll be able to run diagnostic procedures."

Reid did his level best and told Bescardi everything he could recall. Not just the feed store incident and the effect of touching Hotch's chest, but other, smaller things he'd kept to himself. Answering questions before they were asked. Picking up used books at sidewalk sales and knowing who the previous owners had been. And one unsettling occurrence when he'd found a wallet on the street and had run to catch up to the owner a block away without having seen it drop or having looked inside to learn what the owner looked like. Bescardi listened with complete focus and an expression of compassion that, more than anything else, reassured the agent that he was in the right place for help, if such a thing existed. When he had finished, he leaned toward her.

"The only condition I have, Doctor, is that, whatever you find, you tell me the truth, okay?"

Dr. Bescardi gave him a considering look. "Dr. Reid, this is my turf and I make the rules here. I cannot say for certain what will happen, but I can guarantee you three things." Reid looked into her grave, dark eyes. "One, I make no snap judgments. All the data, all the testing will be completed to my satisfaction before I diagnose you." She sat straighter and maintained eye contact. "Two, when I do decide to tell you something, it will be with complete honesty." She sat back and gave him an easy smile.

"What's the third guarantee, Doctor?"

"I won't bite. Relax. This won't hurt a bit."

Reid returned her smile with a rueful one of his own. _This won't hurt a bit…that's what all doctors say_.

The process went on longer than either of them had expected. Reid accepted the offer to stay the night at the Center when, after the first barrage of tests, Bescardi expressed an interest in monitoring his brain waves during various sleep cycles. The next morning, she called Rossi and told him that the examination would take a little longer than planned. She'd keep him posted, and, yes, Reid was fine.

At the end of the second day, while Reid was resting after what he'd been told was the final series of tests, Bescardi called Rossi again. She reached him while he was in Hotch's office. The two agents were speculating what the delay in Reid's return could mean. When his phone chimed and Rossi read who was calling, he gave Hotch a meaningful look and held the phone where they both could hear.

"Carol?"

"Hello, Dave. I think we're nearly done, but I wanted to speak to you before discussing the results with your Dr. Reid."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've assured him of my total honesty, but I want your input on the advisability of even beginning such a discussion."

Rossi frowned at Hotch. "I don't get it. What's your reluctance? How did he do on the tests?"

There were a few beats of silence before she continued. "He scored zero. Not a single correct response."

Rossi's brows rose almost as high as Hotch's. "So he's normal? This is nothing?"

"No, Dave, you don't understand. Statistically, a person with absolutely no ESP talent will still give a certain percentage of correct answers. Getting a score of zero is as significant as scoring 100 percent."

"Soooo….what does that mean?"

They could hear Bescardi clearing her throat. When she inhaled, it sounded ragged. "It means you have the strongest, evolving, verified ESP-er I've ever encountered on your hands."


	5. Stepping Up

Hotch had done his homework. After the bomb Carol Bescardi had dropped on them, Rossi had asked for specifics. The paranormal researcher had temporized, claiming so little was known about Esp-er abilities that everything she said was subject to debate. But when she listed the areas she believed were dominant for Reid, she had sounded very sure. And disturbingly excited.

_Telepathy_. Hotch had already figured that one out. In a nutshell, it was mind-reading.

_Psychometry_. This one intrigued the Unit Chief. If true, Reid could touch objects and divine information from them. When Hotch recalled the young doctor's hand on his chest and the deluge of emotion he'd pulled from Hotch, he supposed the 'object' could be a human being, too.

_Retrocognition_. If Hotch understood correctly, this meant Reid was sort of the opposite of a clairvoyant. He couldn't see the future, but he could see things past.

Any one area of expertise would have been extraordinary. But for one mind to encompass all three was unprecedented. And frightening. _How do you live with something like that?_ Hotch felt sympathy for this man who regarded average people with heartbreaking wistfulness. He knew Reid harbored a longing for the simple joys of life others took for granted. It was very unlikely he'd ever achieve them.

Most telling of all was the testing score of 0%. Bescardi assured them that the failure had been subconscious. Reid hadn't intentionally tried to skew the results. But on the deepest level of his psyche, he didn't want this 'gift.' He was pushing it away with both hands. Any average Joe off the street was expected to get a few answers right. The law of odds commanded it. In order to get every answer wrong, Reid had known the correct one every time. It was the only way to consistently avoid giving it. Bescardi also noted that there had been no hesitation in Reid's performance. He'd known, or rather his subconscious had known, the right answer instantly. And just as quickly sidestepped it in favor of the wrong one…the safer, more normal one.

Hotch watched Reid's plane land and taxi to the gate. He'd thought it would be important to meet the young agent as a demonstration of acceptance and support. It's what he would have wanted, had he been in Reid's unenviable position. In truth, it was the only comfort Hotch could think to offer.

Reid walked through the entrance to the waiting area with his go-bag slung over one shoulder and his ever-present satchel hanging from the other. He didn't expect to be met by anyone. Privately, he thought it would be a good idea to avoid human company altogether for the rest of his life…or at least as long as his brain continued to manufacture freakish surprises. Walking with his head down, he stopped when a pair of well-shined, black wingtips blocked his path. He only knew one person who kept his professional façade so impeccable.

"Hotch."

"Hey."

Fellow travelers cast curious glances at the pair facing off in the middle of the terminal. Something unspoken was passing between them. When the younger teared up, the elder hesitated for an instant, but then stepped forward and wrapped his friend in a hug.

Reid acknowledged the need for human contact and let Hotch hold him for the space of a few heartbeats. It was unusual for his boss to be so demonstrative. _He must know I really need this...to feel I'm not a monster to him_. Recovering, he stepped back and gave his boss a sickly smile.

"Bescardi told you what I am?"

A sterner look passed over Hotch's face. "She told me what she thinks you can _do_. No one needs to tell me what you are. I've known that for years." Reid started to respond, but Hotch cut him off. "And don't tell me you're a freak. You're not. If you say you are, then I'm giving you all of Morgan's paperwork in addition to your own after the next case. Got it?"

Reid blinked. "You still want me on the team? Even knowing what I am?"

"Especially knowing what you are…a brilliant resource, a reliable agent, an integral part of the team,…and a good friend. I'm not letting you go, Reid." Hotch let his voice sound a little less official. "I'm not saying it'll be easy. There are a lot of things we need to decide on before the next case. Since that could happen any time, why don't I take you home and we talk about it where the rest of the team won't be profiling us through my office window."

Reid nodded, shifted his bag higher on his shoulder and fell into step beside Hotch as they headed for the exit to the concourse.

"Hotch?"

"Yeah?"

"The other day when I touched you I felt something besides all the bad stuff."

"What's that?" Hotch wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"You've got a really big heart." After a few more steps, "But I guess that's something about you I've known for years, too."

Hotch shrugged and let just the smallest smile touch his lips before resuming his brusque professionalism.

Reid's apartment reminded Hotch of his brief span of bachelor days before marrying Haley. It was not a shared space. It was a reflection of one personality. In Reid's case it was also a haven for the obscure and the unique. Not unlike its occupant. While Reid made coffee, Hotch prowled the perimeter, stopping every few minutes to look more closely at individual items. He decided his youngest team member must spend a lot of his free time haunting flea markets and sidewalk sales. Overall, he liked the space. It held surprises and curiosities, but it was welcoming and comfortable. Hotch was pleased to feel that if he'd wandered into this dwelling on his own without knowing who lived here, he would have been drawn to learn more about the inhabitant just for the sheer pleasure of it.

Reid placed two cups of coffee on the chipped formica surface of his kitchen table. Hotch sat down before one and took a sip. Reid watched him, turning his own cup in small, nervous arcs.

"So where do we go from here?"

Hotch thought for a moment before answering. "The first thing we need to decide is how you want to handle this." Reid gave him an inquiring look. "Do you want to tell the rest of the team?"

"Wow. That's not something I'm looking forward to."

"I could see it going either way, Reid. If you want to keep this under wraps, I'll respect that, but if I think doing so is going to harm the team, or you, in any way, I'll have to ask you to either step away or step up."

"You think I should tell them."

"I think secrets in a group like ours can be…distracting. And distraction isn't a good thing when everyone needs to be focused in the field. They already know something's going on." Hotch looked down at the table and sighed. "Look, I don't have the answers and I have no idea what you're feeling or how this is gonna play out." He looked up. "But I do know that you can trust every one of us. We're not leaving you to deal with this alone. Maybe you were right when you said where you go, I can't follow, but that doesn't mean you'll be abandoned. It just means we have to find new ways to keep doing what we do best: teamwork."

Reid repeated what was uppermost in his mind. "You want me to tell everyone."

"If you had to tell one person, who would it be?"

"You."

Hotch's lips thinned for a moment. "C'mon. Seriously. Besides me and Rossi, who can you see yourself telling?"

It didn't take any time at all to decide. "J.J."

Hotch nodded. "That'd be my choice, too. She's…calm. Just really easy to talk to." Reid bobbed his head in agreement. "Who would you tell last?"

Their eyes met across the table as they said in perfect unison, "Garcia!"

Hotch grinned. "She'd think the whole thing was…"

"…_way_ too cool," Reid finished for him. Hotch counted it a minor victory when Reid returned his smile, even if it was only for a few seconds.

"What do you think about telling J.J. as a kind of test case? Depending on how it goes, you could do the others one by one, or get it over all at once. How does that sound?"

"Okay." Reid looked up. "You'll stay with me?"

"Until you tell me to go away."

Reid smiled again. "That long?"

Hotch's gaze was steady. Reid read a depth of earnest loyalty in the Unit Chief's eyes that eased some of his trepidation about confronting the others. For the first time in days, he let himself believe he could still be part of this team…of this family.

"Alright, Hotch. When?"

"No time like the present."


	6. A Defining Moment

During the drive in to the Bureau, Reid's phone rang seven times. After watching him check the display and refuse each call, Hotch was curious.

"Anything wrong, Reid?" _Besides just about every damn thing in your life, that is?_

"No…well, sort of."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Reid inhaled deeply, expelling the breath in a shaky shudder. "It's Dr. Bescardi. She didn't want me to leave."

Hotch glanced at him. "Did she have more tests she wanted to run? 'Cause, if you need to, I can give you time off…if you think it'll help."

"Not like that, Hotch." Reid crossed his arms, pulled his knees in closer.

Hotch recognized the body language. He was folding in on himself in a way that indicated he felt a need for protection. _There's enough on his plate already. What fresh hell is this?_ "If you tell me, I might be able to help." Silence. "Sometimes just saying it out loud will make something less stressful." Eyes on the road, he could feel Reid watching him.

"Hotch, will you promise me something?"

"If I can." The Unit Chief did his utmost to keep promises. He had too many memories of 'promising' Hayley he'd make up for short-changing their family due to demands of his job. Since her death, he was cautious. Past promises left unfulfilled were an area of his life that still hurt.

"Don't let me end up in a lab somewhere."

"What? You mean working as a researcher or something?"

"No. I mean as a lab rat."

Hotch's knuckles whitened as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Reid, what are you getting at?" Long pause before the answer came.

"Dr. Bescardi's great. And I really appreciate everything Rossi did to hook me up with her, but…Hotch, she got a little scary when the test results started coming in. I was okay staying an extra day, but she tried to talk me into staying…indefinitely. So she could study me. I got the feeling she was thinking in terms of devoting the rest of her career to having 'discovered' me.

"So I'm asking you: promise me you won't let me end up in a lab for the rest of my life."

Hotch's thoughts were ricocheting at a frantic pace. He'd never considered this aspect of Reid's circumstances. He recalled historical instances when paranormal abilities had been studied with the intent of using them as weapons. _Using the __**people**__ who wielded such powers as weapons_, he corrected himself. Bureaucrats and government administrators tended to discount the human factor and see only what they could unleash against adversaries. And Reid was already right in the heart of a federal agency that could be merciless in the name of patriotism.

Hotch endured the concerned stare from the passenger side. He swallowed and wondered if Reid knew what was racing through his mind.

"I promise I'll do my best not to let that happen to you."

It was a lame way of giving a promise with a loophole. But it was the best he could do without lying. Reid had been thrown a curve and he would have to rebuild the entire structure of his life from the inside out. Hotch hoped honesty would be a strong enough cornerstone to let Reid construct a safe haven. Or at least believe safety was still possible.

When the two agents entered the BAU bullpen, they waded through a sea of curious stares and went straight to Rossi's office.

"Welcome back. How're you holding up?" Rossi took a closer look at Reid's anxious eyes and pale face. He turned to Hotch. "How's he holding up?"

"We're gonna tell the team."

Rossi's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure about that? Once the cat's out of the bag, you can't get it back in…or control where it goes."

"We discussed it. We're gonna start with J.J. and see how it goes. Kind of a test case."

Rossi gave a speculative nod. "That sounds…cautiously appropriate. J.J. can keep secrets if you change your mind along the way." He watched Reid's Adams apple bob nervously and gave him an encouraging smile. "And she likes you Reid. She calls you 'Spence.'"

"Yeah." But Reid couldn't help wondering if by the end of the day, J.J. would be calling him 'freak.'

Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia tracked the three agents as they tapped on J.J.'s door, entered and made certain it was securely closed behind them. Prentiss leaned back in her chair, making no effort to hide her interest.

"So now J.J.'s in on it…whatever 'it' is."

Morgan bent over the reports littering his desk. "Don't stare, Prentiss. It'll make it harder to get stuff out of her if they think we might try. They'll throw up roadblocks, like making her take a vow of silence or something."

Prentiss tilted her head and sighed before returning to her own overflowing inbox. "I just wanted to see if Hotch was gonna undress again."

"Emily!" Garcia gave her shoulder a reprimanding slap in passing on her way back toward IT. She hesitated, cast one more look toward J.J.'s windows and leaned in to whisper near Prentiss' ear. "I missed that last time. If he does it again, if _anyone_ starts to take their clothes off, will you call me?"

Prentiss gave her a thumbs-up.

"Hi, guys. What's up?" J.J.'s voice was wary. She sat up a little straighter and looked from face to face, trying to garner clues that would explain this mini-invasion of her office. It was common knowledge that Reid had been MIA for two days and the three agents' solemn expressions made her imagine the worst. Rossi and Hotch were watching Reid. Reid was staring at her in a disconcerting way, his blink reflex the only part of him that seemed to be working. Hotch stepped forward when it was apparent that the young doctor wouldn't be the one chairing this meeting.

"Reid has discovered some things about himself lately. Uh…In order for the team to remain…functional,…I thought it would be best to have as few secrets as possible." He looked at Reid, but he was still mute. Hotch licked dry lips. "J.J., it's just that you're really easy to talk to and you don't over-react, so we thought, maybe, Reid wouldn't mind trying out his news on you first." Hotch didn't look as sternly official as when the trio had entered. "That okay with you?"

"Su-u-u-re." J.J. stood up and caught Reid's focus. "Are you alright? Spence?"

Reid saw the concern and growing alarm in her eyes. He closed his own briefly and wished with all his heart that what he was about to do didn't destroy one of the best friendships he'd ever had. "J.J., for the last couple days I've been getting tested for some weird stuff…" She brought her hand to her mouth and he could hear _cancer?_ waft from her like a chilly, spectral draft.

"No, it's not cancer." Her eyes widened. He wasn't sure what her expression meant, but he couldn't bear the thought that he was turning into a monster, right before her eyes. Reid's fear ratcheted up and, true to his prediction of its effect on his…_freakdom!_…his sensitivity increased proportionally. He could feel waves of emotion all around him. Whispers of thoughts washed over him. He felt Hotch's steady hand grip his shoulder and it was like an injection of reassurance and support. Reid struggled to ignore the telepathic maelstrom whirling through the room and silently begged J.J. not to desert him.

"J.J., I'm one of those weird, ESP people you read about in science fiction and fantasy. Only I'm real." His voice was barely audible. He sounded…ashamed.

She stared at him. She lowered her hand from her lips and came out from behind her desk to stand before him, only inches away. She looked utterly blank. It felt like hours until she found her voice.

"But you're alright? You're not sick or leaving us or anything like that?"

Reid blinked. "J.J., you're not hearing me. I…I'm a monster…a freak!"

Hotch had always considered J.J. to have more than her share of empathy, along with a healthy dose of intuition and steadfast courage. He watched those traits come into play, pushing shock and fear aside in the name of friendship, of love.

"Yeah, maybe. But you're _our_ monster. You're _our_ freak." She wrapped Reid in a hug. He closed his eyes and felt mostly kindness and affection…there was also some skepticism edged with alarm, and a little bit of anger that he'd scared her by letting her think, even for a second, that he might be ill. She'd probably give him a piece of her mind for that after the hug ended.

"Spence, your brain has always been surprising. To tell you the truth, I think an eidetic memory is kind of creepy. But it's you and it comes in handy." She pulled back and looked at him. "Make no mistake: I _am_ freaked out, and I'm not sure how I feel about this, or even what it really means, so I need some time to figure it out. But at the end of the day, you're Spence. _Our_ Spence." She did a good job of producing a creditable grin. "_Our_ weird ESP guy."

She kissed his cheek.

Leaning back against her desk, she crossed her arms and turned her attention to Hotch and Rossi. "You know when Prentiss finds out about this, she'll take him to Atlantic City so he can help her cheat the odds, don't you?"

Reid would always remember telling J.J. the scariest secret he'd ever had as one of the defining moments of his life. He would always love her for that.


	7. An Evolving Friendship

Hotch hadn't known he'd been holding his breath. But when Reid's anxiety ebbed and he beamed a big smile at J.J., the Unit Chief exhaled and felt the tension drain from his own body. He looked at Rossi and saw a similar reaction.

"One down. Three to go." Hotch turned back to J.J. "What do you think'd be easiest on Reid: one on one, or a team meeting?"

J.J. was staring at the doctor, shaking her head in the small, nonstop way that denotes stunned disbelief. But she still had a faint smile. That was the most important thing to Reid.

"J.J.?" Hotch tried to break her out of her shocked trance.

"Huh? What?"

"What's your vote on how we tell the others? Or should we tell them at all? J.J.!"

"Uh…yeah…sorry." She tried to refocus, but couldn't stop the head shake. "Guys, Hotch…I have _no_ idea where to go with this." She turned and looked down into the bullpen. Morgan seemed to be working. Prentiss stared openly. J.J. wasn't the prescient one, but even she could see that Prentiss was probably wishing for a pair of binoculars so she could read lips.

"I think if you don't tell Prentiss soon, we'll have to put Reid into protective custody. And she'll still find a way to get at him."

The others followed J.J.'s gaze. Morgan bent even closer to his work. Prentiss, the queen of confrontation, met the group head-on and went them one better. She sat up straighter and raised her eyebrows in challenge.

"Clearly, she's waiting for an invitation." Rossi projected his best stern look. Prentiss wasn't impressed; she crossed her arms and stood up.

"Kind of hard to take her without Morgan. Not when they're three feet apart." Hotch glanced at Reid and J.J. and made an executive decision. Opening the office door, he stepped out onto the catwalk. "Morgan, Prentiss…a word."

Morgan looked up cautiously. Prentiss was bounding up the stairs almost before Hotch had finished speaking. She brushed past him, scanning the faces around the room for any hints. Morgan followed more slowly, but looked just as curious.

"So what is it? Where've you been, Reid? What's been going on for the last few days, huh?" Prentiss always moved faster than the world around her. She was the type to stand in front a microwave and scream at it to 'hurry.'

"Reid's been having some medical evaluations done." Hotch began, but remembered the scare J.J. had suffered, envisioning the possibility of terminal illness. "Nothing physical. Just…testing…for some other stuff." He hoped that would put them at ease right from the start. He was wrong.

"Oh, my God, Reid." Prentiss' brought her hand to her face, much as J.J. had done at the prospect of cancer. "Your mother. Oh, no. You didn't inherit…You're not…"

Morgan looked tragic. "Kid,…no…"

_Great job circumventing unnecessary worry!_ Hotch kicked himself. He vowed the next time something like this came up, he'd just blurt out the facts. Then he realized there was no chance of something like this _ever_ coming up again. Ever. In a million years.

J.J. stood by Reid and took his arm.

"Not like that either." Her voice was soft and serene and did more to quell anxiety than any explanation. Drawing on her support, Reid spoke.

"I'm not crazy. Actually, they _did_ do a few tests for that." He was spurred on by Morgan's concern and Prentiss' impatience. "It turns out I have some kind of…different…abilities." Silence. "Weird things I can do because my brain is…well,…weird."

"Say what?" Morgan's eyes flicked from Reid to Hotch and back.

"He's got ESP." Rossi decided to cut through the drama and lay everything out. "He can do things, know things, science can't explain."

"Say _what_?!" Morgan's communication skills took a nosedive.

"You mean like see-the-future and move-stuff-without-touching-it kinds of things?" Prentiss actually looked excited.

"As far as we can tell, he sometimes knows what people are thinking, and he can pick up information by…touching…things." Hotch tried to put the least alarming spin on Reid's talents he could.

"Oh, wow." Prentiss' eyes sparkled with interest. "This is gonna be one strange, wild ride from here on out, isn't it?!" Reid ducked his head and was glad J.J. gripped his arm harder. Prentiss sounded a little too eager. He wondered if visions of Atlantic City were indeed fueling some of her enthusiasm, as J.J. had predicted.

But everyone forgot about Prentiss' potential plots when Morgan closed his eyes, and, chanting a heartfelt "No…no…no…," pushed his way out of the crowded office onto the catwalk and disappeared from view.

Silence followed Morgan's precipitous departure. Reid looked as though he'd been punched in the heart. As the others moved closer to him, offering the comfort of company, Hotch noted that Morgan hadn't gone down the stairs. He would have been visible crossing the bullpen if he had. _So he has to be in my office_. Hotch was in pursuit within seconds.

Sure enough, he could see Morgan pacing behind the slatted blinds on his office windows. He went in and closed the door…vigorously…catching Morgan's attention.

"You better have a good reason for what you just did, Agent." Hotch's voice was the soul of ice. "You know what they call people like Reid? _Sensitives_. He's more vulnerable and more in need of support than ever before in his life. You _know_ this team is his family. What are you so afraid of that you'd treat a family member like that? Like you can't stand to be in the same room with him?" Morgan looked even more shocked than he had at Reid's announcement. Then he rallied at the Unit Chief's attack.

"Hotch, what's he gonna do now? How's he gonna have any of the things he wants, he's been dreaming about since I've known him?"

"Explain." Hotch's tone told Morgan it better be good.

Morgan took a moment to gather his thoughts, to find a way to verbalize them when he'd never done so before; they'd always lived an unspoken existence in his heart.

"Hotch, do you remember the first time you and Haley brought Jack in for everyone to see?" Morgan saw the shift in his leader's eyes as the memory took him. "You were holding this little, tiny thing in your arms. You looked scared, man. Terrified. But you also were the most purely happy person I've ever seen, before or since, in these walls." Morgan moved nearer, spoke forcefully, but quietly.

"You should've seen the look on Reid's face. He wanted what you had: a family; a woman who loves him. He wants to be a father someday. How's he supposed to do any of that now?" Morgan went to one of the leather chairs facing Hotch's desk and dropped into it.

"It was hard enough for him before…when he was just too smart. Now? Now he's so _out there_, that he's never gonna find common ground with anyone. Hotch, he's gonna be alone for the rest of his life. Forever. And if he didn't know it before, he sure as hell knows it now."

Hotch sat on the edge of his desk, facing Morgan. He rubbed his forehead and considered the speech he'd just heard. It hadn't worked out for him and Haley, but Morgan was right. He'd been the happiest man in the world for a time. He wouldn't trade that for anything. The memories were his forever. Just as they would likely be denied Reid forever. Hotch raised his head and looked Morgan in the eye.

"Right now Reid thinks you can't even be near him, let alone be his friend and teammate. What I'm hearing is you're just worried about him. Am I right?"

"More than worried, Hotch."

Hotch held up a hand. "I get it. But I need to know if you can still work with him; still treat him like part of the team?"

Morgan nodded. "Of course I can. But how do I _help_ him now? I've tried to show him how to fit in and how to talk to girls and…all kinds of normal stuff. How can I show him how to be a normal guy now?"

"Sounds like you've been setting yourself up to be his teacher." Hotch's voice lost its aggressive edge. The Unit Chief softened.

"Maybe it's time to just be his friend."


	8. All For One

Hotch returned to J.J.'s office with Morgan in tow. He was relieved to find the group talking companionably. There were so many questions, most of which Reid couldn't answer. Curiosity seemed to have overcome awkwardness and Hotch thought the team just might survive.

Morgan's entrance rendered the group silent.

"Kid, I'm sorry. That wasn't what it looked like."

"It looked like you running away." Prentiss' overt disapproval was obvious.

"Prentiss." Hotch warned her off, giving Morgan a chance to explain without interference.

Morgan approached the doctor. Crossing his arms, he looked Reid up and down. After a moment's thorough inspection, he shook his head. "What am I gonna do with you, Pretty Boy? I have to learn you all over again just when I thought I had you figured out."

His heart contracted when Reid replied. "Me, too. I don't know who or what I am anymore either."

Morgan's voice was soft. "I'm a little scared, you know?"

"You don't have to be scared of me, Morgan."

He took a step closer. "Not scared _of_ you, Reid. Scared _for_ you."

In the moment of silence that followed this important distinction, the difference between wanting to run away and wanting to help, Prentiss' phone chimed.

Her eyes were fixed on the reconciliation scene playing out before her. She didn't check the caller's identity. Holding the phone near her ear she spoke softly, loathe to intrude on the moment.

"Prentiss here."

Garcia's voice rang out loud and clear for everyone to hear. "Emily! What's going on? Did they close the blinds? Can you see them? Is Hotch getting naked? Is _anyone_ getting naked?"

"Garcia!" Prentiss realized it was too late to warn her colleague she had an audience which included a mortified boss.

"What? Should I come over? I'm coming over. Bye."

The phone blanked. Prentiss pocketed it and gave Hotch an apologetic shrug. "I have no idea where that came from." Hotch's face did a fair imitation of chiseled granite. "Really. No idea." Sometimes he could go an entire minute without blinking. "Seriously, not a clue."

"I think we need to set some ground rules when Garcia gets here." Hotch's scowl was unrelenting. Prentiss did her best to look innocent. It wasn't something she did very well.

A flash of color seen peripherally announced Garcia's entrance into the bullpen. She balked at the deserted area where she'd expected to find Prentiss and Morgan. In seconds, she located them, along with the rest of the team, in J.J.'s office. In response to her look of uncertainty, Prentiss gave a small, apologetic finger wave.

Hotch addressed the group as Garcia navigated the stairs in four-inch spangled pumps the color of sangria. "On second thought, I think we should meet off-site to discuss this latest…uh,… development. Until then, no one is to speak about Reid's situation. We keep this within the team for now. Understood?" As a slightly breathless Garcia reached the doorway, there was a ragged chorus of affirmatives and nods.

Hotch glanced at his tech analyst as he dismissed the others. "We'll decide on a place and time to meet later. For now, everyone back to work. Garcia, J.J., Reid, you're here with me."

When the others had filed out and the office door had been closed, Hotch faced Garcia. Her glitter-lidded eyes were darting frantically from J.J. to Reid and back, trying to decipher the mood, signaling the nervous suspicion that her call to Prentiss had been overheard. Hotch lost no time in verifying said suspicion.

"Garcia, I never want to hear you using my name and the words 'getting naked' in the same sentence again. Is that clear?"

"Yessir." She tried to seem contrite by looking at the floor, but curiosity kept her shooting glances at Reid, the focal point of heated conjecture for the last three days. Hotch pressed his lips together to conceal his amusement. Even for a non-profiler, Garcia was such an open book; a big, bright, colorful, open picture book.

"Reid, do you wanna tell Garcia what's going on?" He thought if she didn't receive satisfaction soon, she might explode. Hotch didn't relish the image of J.J.'s office walls spattered with beads, feathers, glitter, and whatever that thing in her hair was….He wasn't quite sure, but he thought it was…_looking_…at him.

The tech analyst turned her full attention to the young doctor. He fidgeted a little, but having experienced the rest of the team's supportive reaction made it easier to broach the subject one more time. And J.J.'s arm linking through his was an immense help. Nonetheless, his voice was quiet, and Garcia hadn't seen him so reticent in a long time. She drew closer.

"Penelope, I, uh…" Reid looked toward Hotch. The Unit Chief nodded encouragement, but it was the kindness in his eyes that made it easier to find the words. "Garcia, it turns out I've got some…talents…that are kind of odd." Before he had a chance to elaborate, her excited squeal made everyone within normal hearing range flinch.

"Oh….My….God…I knew it! I knew it would happen to someone I know someday. Of _course_ it's you! Who else would it be?! Oh, Reid! It's like super-powers, right? Tell me it's super-powers! This…is…so…cool…" She stood before Reid in all her glittery enthusiasm, completely overwhelming this shy, strange man until Hotch called her to order.

"GARCIA! Enough!" She paused verbally, but continued to accost Reid with small, explosive gasps and, finally, an enveloping hug that almost unbalanced him. Hotch stepped in again, but he had a hard time hiding his own grin. "Let him breathe; he's had a hard time with this."

"But it's so incredibly, fantabulously _awesome_, sir!"

"Yes it is. Reid is a very 'awesome' person. Now give him some room."

The techie backed off, but couldn't tear her eyes away from her new hero. "Oh, Reid, wait until I tell Kevin. He is going to go so absolutely…"

"GARCIA!" This time the note of command in Hotch's voice made her stop and turn toward him. "This is a direct order, Garcia: you are to speak of this with no one other than the members of this team. You are to speak with _them_ only when no one else can overhear. There will be no e-mailing, no blogging, no electronic or digital depiction of this at any time, anywhere. Got it?"

Her face fell. She peered up at her leader through purple frames sporting silver polka-dots. "But, sir, this is…HUGE. How can I not tell someone?!...Oh, _sir_!"

Any amusement Hotch felt vanished. "Listen to me. Reid's been through enough. Until we know more about…all of this…we _do not_ advertise him; we protect him. He's not a novelty, Garcia. He's…ours. We protect our own."

The simplicity and sincerity in Hotch's statement cut through to Garcia's heart. Her excitement ebbed as her empathy expanded. She took the arm J.J. wasn't holding and kissed Reid's cheek, branding him with a fuchsia print.

"Okay. But this would have made the best website ever. I'm thinking anime. I'm thinking Wonder Boy Genius with a really cool cape and everything…"

"Garcia!"

"Yessir. I mean… No, sir. I'll be good."

Hotch let himself smile as the two women escorted Reid down to his desk. They were treating him with love and respect.

No one could ask for more.

After a moment, he frowned and squinted down into the bullpen. It still looked as though that thing in Garcia's hair was watching him. He decided Reid wasn't the only weird entity at the BAU that day.


	9. Plans Over Pizza

They used word-of-mouth only. Nothing was committed to e-mail or communicated via phone. There was not even the slightest breath about Reid circulating within the BAU, except among his immediate team members. They would meet at Hotch's place that evening for pizza, information and guidelines on how to proceed without compromising Reid's privacy, safety, or sanity in light of his unique situation. The only one Hotch worried about was Garcia, so he detailed J.J. to keep an eye on her and monitor any internet activity emanating from her personal laptop.

Garcia wouldn't intentionally compromise Reid, but creating webpages was like doodling for the tech-savant. She might let something slip. J.J. was glad the Unit Chief had taken the extra precaution when she found Garcia doing random, little Photoshop creations of tall, lanky brown-eyed men wearing colorful tights, the letter 'R' emblazoned on their chests, and concentric arcs of electric blue emanating from their heads to represent powers of the mind.

J.J. laughed when she saw the images.

"Penelope, what are you doing?"

"Just thinking of avatars for Reid." She looked up at J.J.'s reprimanding expression in complete innocence. "Not for _now_. But someday he might want something like this." A dreamy look dropped over Garcia's bespectacled eyes. "We could call him 'Dr. Read.' Get it? 'Read' as in 'read minds?' J.J., this could be so cool."

J.J. draped an understanding arm across the tech analyst's shoulders. "Maybe someday, but for now I'm gonna have to ask you to delete that stuff. Hotch doesn't want anything about Reid stashed where it could be hacked, stolen, viewed, or otherwise accessed in any way."

Garcia sighed, but acknowledged the need for caution. J.J. patted her back and continued on her way to her own office.

Garcia took one last look at the intricate images she'd crafted and sighed. Hotch was right. These shouldn't be anywhere hack-able. She selected all. Her finger hovered over the delete key, but something glittered at her from the depths of her oversized, tiger-striped purse. She glanced over her shoulder at the heavy, secure door of the IT room and had a little argument with herself.

The side clad in fire-bright red won. The pale, angelic one faded in defeat.

Garcia reached into her purse and pulled out a flash drive; a bright blue, crystal-encrusted kitten. The color reminded her of the graphics she'd used to indicate Reid's super-mind. Smiling, Penelope transferred the avatars. Once they were safely on the flash drive, she deleted the originals. She even removed the history trail attached to their creation. She tucked the sparkling kitten in a cubbyhole that was hers alone; that no other IT person would dare invade.

_Reid might want to see these someday_, she reasoned. _And Hotch's demands have been satisfied: there's no way anyone can use the internet to hack the kitten_.

Garcia didn't think the chances of someone slipping into a _very_ secure room in the center of a _very_ secure organization were worth considering. She couldn't envision any set of circumstances where unauthorized access might occur.

Hotch was an admirable leader. But sometimes he worried too much.

Reid rode over to Hotch's place with Rossi. He wasn't looking forward to being the center of attention and the main subject of the evening's conversation, but he had to admit he was feeling a lot better than he had earlier in the day. It looked as though he wouldn't be branded a monster after all. He still considered himself a freak, but as long as there were people like his teammates who were willing to claim ownership of him, he could live with it.

Hotch's door stood ajar, pouring golden light out in a welcoming echo of the fire-edged clouds spanning the evening sky. Reid and Rossi entered to find their leader flat on his back on the living room floor, letting himself lose a wrestling match with four-year-old Jack. The battle continued as the rest of the team straggled in.

It was a good way to start what would be an unusual meeting; maybe even a tense one. Seeing their stern boss at play and so clearly head-over-heels in love with his son, reminded them of family and trust and care…all the qualities that remained when the horrors of their job burned off the non-essentials. As Hotch lost the struggle and went limp, allowing Jack to bounce in triumph on Daddy's tummy, an assortment of pizzas were delivered.

After the edge was taken off their collective hunger, Jack was put to bed. Hotch broke out a case of beer and the meal continued at a more leisurely pace. They were all sneaking looks at Reid, trying not to discomfit him, but unable to hide rampant speculation concerning his abilities. Finally, Hotch sat back, beer in hand, and called the meeting to order.

"You all know Reid's going through some…changes…and has been for some time." Heads turned; brows raised. Hotch explained. "He's been trying to ignore what's happening to him and carry on in a normal way, but you can't hide something that big. He was bound to slip. I'm glad he did." The Unit Chief's assertion was firm, brooking no argument. "I wouldn't want any of you to think you have to hide who you are. Never doubt that your talents, as well as your troubles, can be shared. We all benefit from the one. We all contribute to bear the burden of the other. Clear?" Everyone knew Hotch was creating a safe place for Reid to let down the barriers he'd erected.

When nods and congenial smiles responded, Hotch turned to the youngest team member. He let himself grin in true good humor. There was no doubting his sincerity when he looked Reid in the eye and told him, "I'm happy for you. I can't think of a better custodian for what is truly a remarkable gift." For a moment Reid could only blink.

It was the most encouraging thing anyone had ever said to him. His responding smile wasn't shy at all. And it was all the thanks Hotch needed.

By evening's end a few conclusions had been reached. First, Reid was the only authority on his burgeoning abilities, but he was no expert. He could tell them what he felt and thought; he could define the areas of sensitivity he possessed, but he was as mystified as the rest when it came to definitive explanations of where his ESP came from or where it would lead. They would all be learning together.

Second, everyone agreed that discretion was a necessity. Reid wanted privacy and security to explore his new world. It was incumbent on his teammates to provide it and protect it. When it was revealed that the young doctor had clued Hotch and Rossi in by a simple slip, the result of hearing something unspoken, Morgan suggested he take a page from the world of the hearing-impaired. He could try to respond only when he'd actually seen someone's lips move. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it opened the door for the others to think along the same lines: discovering survival strategies for Reid.

The third conclusion was the hardest for Reid. They were relying on him to be open and honest about himself. For someone trailing a lifetime of lonely self-reliance behind him, it was a daunting prospect.

"Lean on us when you need us. Tell us what's going on with you regularly so we can help." Hotch knew how hard that directive was. He'd been obliged to follow the advice himself after Foyet had blown his world apart, leaving him vulnerable and in dire need of aid he couldn't identify or request. The team had pulled together for him then. He was confident they could do so for Reid now.

The night was winding down. There were still more questions than answers, but they were unified on Reid's behalf. They would find ways to foster and defend him. It would take time.

J.J.'s and Hotch's phones buzzed. A new case. Urgent. Immediate.

Time was up.


	10. While the Team's Away---

Time was of the essence, so it was a rushed meeting in the conference room. Once the salient features of the case had been revealed, Prentiss spoke for the whole team. "If they've already got this guy, why do they need us?"

"Because there's a chance some of his victims might still be alive." Hotch was tense, straining at the leash to be off.

Rossi, by comparison, was relaxed. He finished arranging for one of his neighbors to pick up his mail and pocketed his phone. "He's taunting them, Emily. He's telling them there are multiple lives still out there, slowly ebbing away. And there's nothing anyone can do about it."

"He has al-l-l-l-l the power." Morgan hated the type. They were just psychotic bullies.

"They're hoping we can decipher this sicko in time to save…someone…anyone." J.J's quiet voice was infinitely sad.

"There's a chance he's lying. He might just want the attention that goes with upping the body count and making us think we can still save someone." Reid dumped a handful of vending machine candy bars into the zippered side of his go-bag.

Hotch rubbed his forehead. "Locals seem to believe him. There are a number of teens who've gone missing from surrounding towns in the last few weeks. We can't take any chances that he's making all this up."

They would review the case in greater detail en route. The time factor had local authorities in Needles, California, begging for the FBI to throw everything they could into the mix. So Hotch had asked Garcia to accompany them. The unsub had multiple computers at his disposal, some of which were accessible to the public. It would take an expert to find his signature, if it existed, and to unravel his trail. At this point, they didn't even know if it was necessary. The Unit Chief wanted their tech analyst on site…just in case. It might not help, but it couldn't hurt. Penelope was in IT, downloading case files onto the team's tablets. Then she'd be along for the ride.

Hotch's phone buzzed. He scanned the display.

"Wheels up…now. Let's go."

In flight, they made the acquaintance of Mr. Arthur Brandenhoff, forty-three years of age.

Arthur had been apprehended when he revisited what he claimed was only his _first_ dump site. Three bodies had been recovered. Each had been folded, living, into a crate. Each crate had been interred in the loamy, forest soil. Each burial site was marked by a hollow, plastic tube the diameter of a drinking straw. The tubes were flush with the surface of the ground, but they snaked down far enough to reach a hole drilled in the top of each crate. These were slender lifelines; the only source of oxygen for the victims. It wasn't enough to do more than prolong slow, sadistic suffocation.

Arthur Brandenhoff liked to lie on the ground, ear positioned over the tube opening, listening. When they'd found him, he'd been enjoying the last stirrings of a fifteen-year-old girl he'd abducted from a mall parking lot. Arthur liked to do other things, too.

"Oh, God." Prentiss had skipped ahead to read a lab report concerning trace contents of the crates and a subsequent soil analysis of the dirt in which the tubes were embedded.

"What?..." Morgan paged ahead. "…Oh…Son of a bitch…"

"So air wasn't the only thing that passed through that plastic tubing." Hotch's voice was steady, but disgust and anger simmered just below the surface.

"Urine, semen, saliva…" Reid read the list of substances found, irrevocably tying Arthur Brandenhoff's DNA to each grave. "I wonder if he was marking his territory, or if there's something else he gets out of, uh…visiting the victims that way." Viscous substances had narrowed the airways, eventually blocking them.

"We'll find out soon enough." Hotch yawned. "It's a long flight. Everyone try to get some rest. If there _are_ other victims, we won't have time for sleep until they're found. Or until we prove Arthur's total tally is three."

"One can only hope." Rossi had a fatalistic feeling about this one.

Tablets were stowed away. Lights were dimmed, but sleep didn't come easily.

The companionable conversation enjoyed earlier over pizza continued. As though drawing comfort from each other, they remained seated in close proximity. Voices were hushed in deference to the late hour and the long day.

Reid reflected that he'd begun the day flying back from New York to Quantico. Ending it by flying to California somehow blurred everything. The rigorous testing he'd undergone and the sea change in his brain felt oddly distant. It made it easier to talk about.

"So, kid. You think you might be able to read this guy's mind and let us all go home early?" Morgan's tired grin gave the statement a gentle, wistful quality.

"I don't know. I can't control it when it happens." Reid leaned back and looked into the darkness outside the window. "I tried it on Hotch. I had to touch him and the images were hard to separate from all the emotion he'd felt at the time. It was overwhelming. Scary." Reid looked back at the group, each regarding their strange brother with expressions ranging from fascination to worry to sadness. "I just don't know."

"Reid's not going to 'try' anything unless he wants to." Hotch's firm voice was setting boundaries. "And everyone remember: Reid isn't a subject for discussion with or around anyone outside this team." He turned a meaningful eye on Garcia. "No exceptions."

Rossi settled deeper into his seat and closed his eyes. "You know, Reid, if you want to explore controlling this thing, I bet Dr. Bescardi could give you some pointers."

Reid and Hotch exchanged sharp glances. Hotch gave his head a miniscule shake, keeping Reid silent.

"Maybe you could ask her to e-mail him some pointers. That might help."

"Be easier if he just went back for…I don't know…a seminar, a refresher course…something."

Silence. Rossi opened his eyes and looked at the Unit Chief. "Is there a problem?"

"Reid got a feeling that she wanted to keep him there. For a long time. Longer than he'd want to stay." Rossi's eyebrows rose. "And I think we should pay attention when Reid has a…feeling…these days."

Rossi sat up straighter and looked at the young agent. "I see." After a moment he nestled down into his seat again and closed his eyes. "When we get back, I'll have a little talk with her. Maybe there's been a misunderstanding." He yawned. "Anyway, don't worry about it, Reid. I'm sure everything will work itself out."

Taking their cue from Rossi, the others scattered throughout the cabin, searching for comfortable places. To Hotch's surprise, Reid moved to the seat beside his, stretching long legs beneath the table separating them from the facing bank of seats.

"You okay, Reid?"

"Yeah. Sure." He crossed his arms and turned his head away. "Just feels…safer…here."

Hotch remained awake until even breathing told him Reid had descended into whatever passed for sleep in a brain like that.

Dr. Carol Bescardi couldn't sleep at all. She tapped a pen against her teeth and frowned at the computer monitor before her. The FBI contained so many departments and positions and phone numbers. She'd had no luck trying to contact the elusive Dr. Reid. She knew he wasn't returning her calls because he wanted to sever ties with the Paranormal Investigation Center in general, and with her in particular.

Just because she'd shown some enthusiasm.

He was putting his own agenda, his personal life, ahead of the loftier goal of scientific research. _How short-sighted. How…__**selfish**__!_ She'd been poring over the FBI website for nearly an hour, trying to decide if there was anyone she could talk to who would understand; who would have the authority to force reluctant Reid back into her lab where he belonged.

She was getting nowhere and it was late. Whomever she called at this hour would likely be gone for the day. Still, she could leave a message. She tapped her pen and sighed. _I won't get anywhere unless I start somewhere_. That motto had helped her in the past when she'd been faced with so many options she'd been rendered immobile.

Bescardi took a chance. She selected a number and punched it in.

In a corner office at FBI headquarters, a phone rang. The caller was put through to voicemail. Erin Strauss, Section Chief of the BAU, would find an intriguing message in the morning.


	11. And Then There Was None

When the profilers arrived in Needles, California, the entire police force, all three of them, were waiting.

Chief Allan Mayhew was a man just past middle age, who had thought taking a post in this small, rural village would be a nice way to finish out his career. No crime more serious than an occasional burglary or a drunken weekend brawl had crossed his path for seven years. Now he had a nightmare on his hands. After hurried introductions, he pointed the federal agents toward the interrogation room, which doubled as the staff lunchroom. The only nod to its official use was that it was miked and the usual one-way mirror had been installed along one wall.

The team paused to observe their quarry.

Arthur Brandenhoff was taking his ease, cuffed hands resting atop his protuberant belly. The only thing immediately apparent from his appearance was that he hadn't made the close acquaintance of a razor or a barber for quite some time. Brown hair laced with a smattering of gray trailed over his shoulders and covered half his face.

Hotch turned a predatory gaze on the man. He hated beards. Bare faces were easier to read; the minutiae of expression and musculature that conveyed so much was obscured by facial hair.

"Where're the laptops you took from him?"

Chief Mayhew pointed. "Got two on the desk over there."

Hotch shot a dark glance in their general direction. "Garcia, they're yours. Tear them apart. Look for maps. Anything topographical. Any saved landscape photos or driving directions. If it looks like he downloaded from elsewhere, find out. You'll have to search those as well." The tech analyst lost no time setting up.

"What'd you want us to do?" Morgan stood by his boss, waiting for the usual assignments of who would take victimology; who would talk to the medical examiner; who would comb through the crime scene. Silence. "Hotch?"

The Unit Chief was focused on Arthur Brandenhoff.

"Hotch!"

Their leader startled, and then returned to them.

"Before we split up and run off in a dozen different directions, let's see if there's even a need." Hotch shook off some of the fatigue they were all feeling and turned from the one-way glass through which he'd already learned to truly hate this killer of children. "I'll talk to him first." His eye fell on Reid, but it was only momentary. He didn't want to force anything onto the young doctor in his fragile state. Discovering new abilities was enough to contend with. They didn't need to be put to the test so soon. And certainly not in such a sordid situation.

He stepped past the rest of the team and had his hand on the door knob to the interrogation room when he felt someone grip his arm.

Reid was as repulsed by this crime as anyone. But where Hotch and the others felt a protective instinct for the victimized teenage girls, Reid was near enough in age to feel identification. It placed him closer than the rest. It let the crime's horror and sick degradation thread its way into his heart deeper, more personally.

"I'll go with you."

"Are you sure? You don't have to, Reid."

"I'm sure."

Hotch surveyed his youngest agent. "Okay. Just sit next to me. I'll do the talking." He took a closer look at the haggard face. "You're tired, Reid. If I understand you, that makes you more vulnerable, more receptive, right?"

Reid nodded. Hotch subjected him to intense scrutiny. But he needed all the help he could get. If there were any more victims out there, somewhere in the thousands of acres of ancient forest that surrounded this tiny community, he wanted to find them. If not alive, then at least to give their families closure and something to put in a coffin and say a prayer over.

"Okay. But if you don't feel right about this at any point…you leave the room. Understood?"

Reid nodded again. "I'm fine, Hotch. I wanna do this. I kinda have to. Can't explain really."

As the others watched, the two agents took deep breaths, straightened their tired shoulders and entered the interrogation room to face a monster.

Erin Strauss always arrived at work early. It was part of her arsenal against all the younger, more upwardly mobile, more _male_ members of the FBI. Despite the presence of female agents, Strauss couldn't forget the struggles of her generation. It had been a fierce battle to breech the walls of the predominantly masculine Bureau. She bore the scars of her private war and she wasn't about to let her guard down even if she had achieved a respectable position.

She was always early. She was always alert.

According to the blinking light on her desk phone, there were several messages waiting for her. Only one of them merited special attention. In fact, she played it back several times before deciding on a response.

Strauss was thrilled that there might be a problem, an unreported medical issue, plaguing Aaron Hotchner's team. The Unit Chief was a thorn in her side. He represented everything she'd fought to overcome: a younger man whose ascension was easy compared to a woman's path. At least, that's how Strauss saw him. As a result, she'd made collecting information that could derail Hotchner's career her hobby.

Always cautious, she decided to probe for more information within the BAU before contacting this unknown Bescardi-person. It was best to keep problems and issues within the Bureau walls. If there _was_ something amiss that she could present to the Director, it would look as though her motives were purer if she'd acted as a guardian of her department, rather than its adversary.

She smiled as she punched in the code that would connect her with Hotchner. It was always fun to push his buttons. The man was disgustingly noble and loyal. There just wasn't room for such outdated values in the Bureau she knew. Not if you really wanted to climb the ladder of success. One of these days, she'd push Agent Hotchner out the door. She'd prefer to push him off a cliff. But she'd settle for the door.

Minutes later, when there was no answer, Strauss frowned and debated the wisdom of bypassing Hotchner and contacting David Rossi. Rossi was older, more formidable when it came to political byplay. Strauss decided to wait an hour or two. Maybe Hotchner would be available by then. She decided to listen to the message from Bescardi again. It made her think that there must be internal evidence somewhere in the BAU indicating a clandestine appointment for Dr. Spencer Reid. Something his Unit Chief should have reported…but didn't. With the entire team on the opposite side of the continent, she could search at her leisure.

After all, the day was young. There was plenty of time to investigate and plan when you came into the office as early as Erin Strauss did.

Hotch and Reid took seats opposite a smirking, sweating Arthur Brandenhoff.

"I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We're with the FBI."

Arthur's face lit up. He glanced briefly at the younger agent and dismissed him as inconsequential. The dark, gaunt one with the fierce eyes was clearly in charge. And FBI! That was better than he'd hoped for. He preened under the special attention.

Seeing the suspect's delighted reaction disturbed Hotch. It meant he would try to prolong this interview, sucking every last drop from it in a twisted cry for outside validation.

Reid's stomach plummeted. He read the same signs as his boss. Arthur would tap dance around the truth and play the two agents for as long as possible. And if he'd buried more bodies, that could be a deadly game.

Hotch dove in head first. "Mr. Brandenhoff, we're here because you indicated the possibility of additional victims." Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Did I?...Aaron, is it?"

"Yes, you did. And it's Agent Hotchner."

"Well…_Aaron_…what makes you think I'd tell _you_ anything?"

Hotch swallowed his revulsion and decided to play on the man's ego. "You're already irrevocably tied to three murders. In our experience, that's not much of an accomplishment. It makes you a serial killer, but just barely. Don't you want credit for your…work?"

At the same time Brandenhoff smiled in fond remembrance of that…work,…from the corner of his eye, Hotch saw Reid flinch. He broke eye contact with the suspect and turned to look at the young doctor.

"Reid? You okay? Need to take a break?"

"Five, Hotch." It was a barely audible gasp; too faint to be picked up on the audio recording of the session. "There are five more out there."

Hotch felt a chill scrape across his spine. He licked his lips, distracted by this new, eerie aspect of the interrogation. Leaning close to Reid, he bowed his head and whispered. "Are you sure?" The doctor nodded, eyes fixed, unblinking and horrified, on the suspect. "Anything else? Reid?"

There was no answer. Reid was waging a very private battle with terror. He could see the last crate being buried; the slender plastic tube shorn off at ground level. It was only hours before Brandenhoff had been apprehended. Only a day-and-a-half ago. She could still be alive, but not for much longer. Part of this monster's sick satisfaction was in knowing a life was expiring, breath by breath, as these hot-shot federal agents sat idly by, kneeling at the altar of Arthur's ego.

Reid felt sweat break out on his brow. Just as he'd known a few days ago that touching Hotch's bare skin would augment his vision, he knew now that it might be the only way to pull the information they needed from this...beast...in time to make the difference between returning someone's daughter to them, or giving the local funeral parlor more business.

Hotch was still staring at Reid, debating sending him from the room. As close as he was, he couldn't prevent what happened next.

Reid lunged forward and grabbed the suspect's hands in an iron grip. He pulled him forward, pinning him to the table surface with one hand on the back of his bare neck.

Hotch's reaction was instant. He leapt to pry Reid away from a shouting, struggling Arthur and pushed him back down into his chair.

The rest of the team had been observing. The interrogation room door flew open. As the confused, outraged suspect was herded out, the agents gathered closer. Reid remained in his chair, Hotch crouched before him, gripping his shoulders.

Variations of "Are you okay?" peppered them, but both were silent.

As the team hovered uncertainly, Hotch felt a wave of nausea wash over him. When he looked into Reid's eyes, all he saw was a soulless blank. Emptiness. Vacancy.

Echoes of Reid's greatest fear touched the Unit Chief. _What if I get lost? What if I can't come back?_ Sick grief engulfed Hotch. _You can't follow where I go…_

Spencer Reid, his most gifted agent, his friend,…was gone.


	12. Lost and Found

An hour passed.

Two.

Almost as disturbing as Reid's 'absence' was Hotch's reaction. The Unit Chief refused to move. Nor would he allow the damaged agent to be taken away. A doctor was summoned from the town's only hospital. After an all too brief examination, he pronounced Agent Reid catatonic. It wasn't precisely correct, but he'd never seen anything like this before and it was the most accurate approximation of a diagnosis he could give without additional neurological testing.

But Hotch wouldn't let go. Reid remained sitting upright in his chair. His leader remained in his, facing him, inches separating the two.

The worst moment for Hotch was when the doctor closed Reid's unblinking eyes with a gentle hand. It was a gesture reserved for the dead. Rossi watched Hotch's own eyes brim with tears and decided it was time to step in.

"Aaron, there's nothing more we can do here." Silence. "Let them take Reid where they can try to help him." Nothing.

Rossi knelt beside the Unit Chief. Laying a hand along one side of his face, he turned his head, forcing him to look away from Reid and confront different, entirely present eyes. "Aaron, remember why we're here. There are still bodies out there. Five, if what…Reid…told you is true. We need to regroup. You need rest. We all do. Then we can start fresh, okay?"

"No. Rossi, he told me. He warned me he was all alone and might get lost and I…I let him do this anyway. I'm not leaving him. I can't."

Morgan stepped up as Rossi nodded at him. "Derek, take Hotch out."

"C'mon, man." Morgan slipped his hands under Hotch's arms and lifted him. It took a little effort. Not because Hotch resisted, but because he simply didn't help. Morgan moved him around his chair and pulled him toward the door, but that was as far as he got.

With a sudden display of strength and determination, Hotch tore free, eluding Morgan's grip.

"No! Wait. There's something. Something I'm supposed to do. Can't explain. I need a minute. Just a minute more." The looks exchanged among the rest of the team spoke silent volumes. They were sure their boss needed something, but it wasn't a minute. Morgan gathered himself for another try. What Hotch did next stopped him in his tracks. It stopped all of them.

With desperate speed, Hotch started to unbutton his shirt. Frustrated at his own clumsiness, he finally tore the garment open, struggling free of it. Belatedly, he undid his tie. He consigned tie, shirt and undershirt to a pile on the floor. Hovering in the doorway, Garcia was as rapt as the others, unable to attribute a logical motive to their leader's actions.

"Oh my God. Hotch's getting naked!" She slapped a hand over her mouth, recalling the particulars of the one sentence she'd been ordered never to utter again. She needn't have worried. Hotch didn't hear any of the gasps or concerned confusion around him.

Bare-chested, he sat before Reid, grabbed the younger agent's limp hand and held it against his skin, keeping it in place by covering it with his own. Directly over his heart.

"Come on, Reid." He gritted the words out, verging on a growl. "You said I couldn't follow you. So you have to find me, Reid. Find me. _Please_. Find me."

Only Rossi had been present when Reid had demonstrated his ability by placing a hand over Hotch's heart, but it was Prentiss who acted first. Following some instinct that defied explanation, she knelt beside Hotch. She looked from one to the other; from a blank face with no expression to one of the most intensely tragic ones she'd ever seen on anyone, let alone her stoic, self-contained boss.

Prentiss placed her hand on top of Hotch's. She closed her eyes and joined her plea to his. "Find him, Reid. Find _us_."

In turn, Morgan, J.J. and Garcia joined the huddle and added their hands. Rossi was last, he placed one hand on top of the stack. The other held onto Hotch's shoulder, keeping him steady against the pressure applied to his chest.

Rossi watched Hotch's eyes drift shut, tears spilling over freely now.

Reid was in hell. Not the hell of Christianity. Not a place of brimstone and sulfur, of pitchforks and flames. This hell was laced with laughter. It reveled in degradation, humiliation and torture. It wished the subjects of its fancy wouldn't die; it wanted them to live forever so it could play with them longer. Play with them again and again. And it dragged Reid with it every step of the way.

Reid tried to hide, to curl into himself and disappear, but he didn't know how. No matter what he did, the laughter found him. It forced him to watch what it did. To smell and feel some of its favorite things.

After a while, Reid realized something. He was lost, but the thing surrounding him wasn't aware of his presence. It was doing what it always did. He was just a spectator along for the ride. He felt a little safer. Being unnoticed meant he wouldn't be targeted. But he couldn't turn off the things it was making him experience.

He was terrified and the fear opened his mind even wider. It let the beast and its sickness usurp him ever more completely. It was a vicious cycle; the more frightened he became, the more open he felt. At last the twisted laughter was joined by a gibbering wail. Reid recognized it as his own. It crescendoed and grew and grew until he thought he'd go deaf with the pain.

It was chanting what it liked best about its teenaged victims. _Fear, fear, fear, fear… _The mantra turned into a vortex that pulled Reid under. He was drowning in the texture of it. He didn't know how much more he could take before his sanity floated away within the _fear, fear, fear, f-fear, f-f-fear,…f…f…f… FIND ME!_ It tore through his brain with blinding heat. _FIND ME!_ It was screaming and painful. He was being torn to pieces by opposing forces. _FIND ME!_ He wanted to turn it off, to make it stop pulling at him. It was like trying to get free from quicksand. God, it hurt to look away from the dark laughter. Everything hurt. No matter what he did, it would hurt…so…much…_FIND ME!_ Reid knew he would disintegrate if he didn't make one of them stop…Stop…STOP! He gathered what power he had and threw himself, his mind, his soul, in a desperate attack… and…

…with a guttural scream, Reid tore out from under the team's stacked hands and away from Hotch's chest. Before anyone could react with more than startled stares, he turned to the side and vomited.

Garcia and J.J. were closest. Both jumped away. But when Hotch leaned over and followed suit, Garcia wasn't fast enough. What little was in the Unit Chief's stomach landed on her sequin-encrusted, platform pumps. Everyone stepped back. Except Rossi; he stood behind Hotch, hands on his shoulders, holding him upright and staring at Reid.

Both seated men were breathing heavily. Both looked ill, complexions tinged with green.

"Reid?" Hotch gasped, wiping his mouth and leaning forward against the pressure of Rossi's grip.

"You did it." Reid swayed in his chair. Morgan moved in, taking his shoulders, mirroring Rossi's hold on Hotch. "You brought me back. Hotch, you had my back. I didn't think you could, but you did it…you did it…" The young doctor bent forward. What started as a chuckle, morphed into sobbing.

The team exchanged glances, unsure of what had transpired. Knowing only that something eerie had ghosted its way into their lives.

Rossi nodded at Morgan. "Let's get them both somewhere where they can rest."

But when Reid was pulled to his feet, he thrashed his way free.

"NO! No, we can't leave." He turned to his leader, swaying, catching himself, using Morgan's ready arm for support.

"I know where they are, Hotch. I can see them. I can find them. But we have to go now. NOW! Before it fades."

Hotch struggled to his feet. He dug car keys from his pocket and extended them toward Reid. "You're sure you can find them?"

Reid grabbed the keys and staggered toward the door. "With my eyes closed."

The others sincerely hoped he wouldn't drive that way.


	13. Into the Woods

Outside in the crisp, mountain air, Reid recovered a little.

But he didn't have time to consider anything other than the slowly fading images swirling through his mind. Their urgency drove him. He dove behind the wheel of the Range Rover they'd rented on arrival. He ignored Morgan's protests that maybe someone else should drive. If the others hadn't kept up with him, Reid would have abandoned them. As it was, J.J. and Garcia were left behind. In J.J.'s case because Hotch had signaled her to stay. In Garcia's, because she would be useless in the field and she wanted very badly to clean her shoes.

The lone squad car serving the town trailed after them. Chief Mayhew opted against turning on his siren. He didn't know where these crazy feds were headed. And he had no idea what had transpired in the interrogation room. He decided the only reasonable explanation for it all was that the two agents conducting the interview of Arthur Brandenhoff must have picked up a bug of some sort. They'd thrown up almost in unison and both looked a little shaky. He admired the devotion to duty that spurred them out the door and in pursuit. He just wished he knew what they were in pursuit of.

Morgan and Prentiss were watching Reid with deep concern. He was mumbling to himself and actually did close his eyes at times while driving; something completely outside their comfort zone.

Meanwhile, Rossi was equally concerned with Hotch in the back seat. Their leader kept blinking and shaking his head as though trying to focus his vision or clear something from it. A number of times he buried his face in the palms of his hands and shuddered. Rossi kept an arm around him, patting his shoulder in an effort to comfort. In his other hand he clutched the crumpled clothes Hotch had discarded.

"White house, white house, white house…" Reid was muttering to himself. He came to the corner of a street containing a number of white houses, paused and stared to the left. "No, too late, too late, too late…." He jerked the Rover to the right and accelerated, disregarding stop signs and the one traffic light they encountered before leaving the city limits.

Morgan was hanging on at every precarious turn. "Too late for what, Reid? Talk to us!"

The young doctor startled, seeming to notice for the first time that he had passengers. "Too late for the one under the porch. She's dead."

Prentiss and Morgan exchanged looks. This was beyond their experience. The best they could do was stay alert and be ready to shout at Reid in case they encountered any obstacles like other vehicles, pedestrians, or, as seemed likely in this rural setting, livestock in the road.

Reid tore out of town. He slowed the frantic pace after a few miles, looking for they knew not what. Morgan saw the trailhead a split-second before Reid plunged the Rover off the pavement and bounced into the darkness beneath old-growth forest. After a bone-jarring trip between towering fir trees, he slammed on the brakes at the edge of what looked like a precipice in the murky light.

Leaving the key in the ignition, the engine running, and his teammates behind, Reid launched himself out of the Rover. Prentiss and Morgan scrambled to follow, but he was already over the edge and tearing down the needle-covered incline at breakneck speed.

As the younger agents pelted off into the woods, Chief Mayhew bumped his car to a stop behind the idling Rover. Rossi and Hotch struggled out, Hotch doing a poor job of keeping his balance. With the forethought of experience, Rossi asked the Chief if he had any tools in his trunk. Within minutes, shovels and flashlight in hand, he was making his way toward the sound of Reid's name being shouted along with pleas for him to slow down.

Chief Mayhew shook his head and looked at the Unit Chief who'd been left behind. He turned the Rover's engine off and helped Agent Hotchner back into his clothes. He had no idea why he'd shed them in the first place. He concluded that fever had made the man undress in an attempt to cool down. As he listened to the turmoil deeper in the woods, Mayhew decided when he wrote this up at the end of the day, he'd attribute a lot of what had happened to that new strain of flu that had been making the rounds. Really, there couldn't be any other explanation that made sense. He gently patted the swaying agent's back.

"Take it easy, son. Everyone gets sick sometime. Let's just hope it's one of those 24 hour types."

The Chief's words didn't register in Hotch's brain. He was still trying to erase the echo of a laugh that chilled and sickened him more deeply than any virus ever could.

At the bottom of the incline, Reid shut his eyes and turned his head from side to side in a way that made Prentiss and Morgan think he was looking at the terrain through closed lids.

"This is creepy." Prentiss had stumbled and slid the last few yards. She brushed moldering leaves from her pants as she waited for some sign of how she could help.

"Got that right." Morgan had caught himself on several sharp branches. He rubbed at an especially long scratch scoring one forearm.

Without warning, Reid's eyes flew open. He moved several yards to the right and dropped to his knees, scrabbling at the forest floor with his bare hands.

"Reid! C'mon, man." Morgan stood behind him and tried to stop him from tearing his flesh on the rocky soil. "Stop it!"

"She's here! She's here! He put her here!" As the young doctor pulled soil away, the end of a slender piece of plastic tubing was exposed. Morgan blanched, dropped down and added his efforts to Reid's.

Rossi's arrival with appropriate tools was a great relief. The two agents dug. Reid kept talking under his breath. The others couldn't tell if he thought he was actually conversing with someone or if the steady stream of dialogue was meant as self-encouragement. When they hit the wooden surface of the crate, the shovels were abandoned. Reid brushed soil away from the hole where the tube entered and pulled it free, opening up a larger airway.

There was no sound, no answer to Reid's shouted pleas for someone named 'Sarah' to answer him. Morgan's brute strength pried off the lid. Inside, the frail form of a teenaged girl was curled into an impossibly small space. Morgan freed her and attempted CPR. When he thought he detected a ragged, thready pulse, he scooped the girl into his arms and sped back toward the trail.

Rossi and Prentiss watched Reid sink to the ground, panting.

"You knew her name, Reid?" Prentiss crouched beside him, glad he seemed to be back to normal awareness.

"Yeah. She's Sarah." His breathing slowed. He turned his head toward a place where the trees seemed to close in. Silence and darkness gathered under the ancient limbs. "And over there are C-Cindy, Katherine…and, Jean…I think." He looked up imploringly at his teammates. "Too late. Too late for them. I was too late."

Reid bent his head and cried. Only his heaving shoulders let Rossi and Prentiss know. Spencer Reid's tears were as silent as the grave.


	14. Going Where You Don't Belong

In the interest of time, Morgan loaded the rescued girl into the back of Chief Mayhew's squad car. He slipped in after her in case CPR would be needed before they reached a hospital. In truth, her pulse was so weak he couldn't really tell if she needed it already. While the Chief drove with lights flashing and siren wailing, Morgan rested his ear against the girl's chest. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on hearing the faint, slow tick of her heart.

She didn't disappoint him. When he carried her into the ER and laid her on a gurney, he was pleased to see the staff scramble when the attending physician yelled 'Live one!'. He was grateful he hadn't brought them a corpse. On the other hand, a pessimistic, little voice whispered to him that their speed also declared this a life-or-death situation with no room for error and no more time to be lost. _She's not out of the woods yet_, he thought, belatedly realizing what a terrible pun that was.

Hotch stayed with the Range Rover. He watched Morgan, Mayhew and the girl speed away. The siren grew faint quickly, forest dampening its shriek. By the time the woods were quiet again, Rossi and Prentiss had returned, flanking a subdued Reid.

"You alright?" Hotch thought Reid looked sad, but not as sick as he himself still felt.

Reid nodded. "You?"

"Not sure."

Rossi plucked the keys from Hotch's hand. "That's it, then. Into the car, children." He cast a significant look at the men. "You two are getting checked out as soon as Garcia can send me coordinates to get us out of here."

"I know where to go." Reid's voice was quiet, but sure. A look of confusion passed over his face as he explored some inner terrain the others would never know. "Huh. I think I know where the hospital is, because that's where Sarah is now."

"Who?" Hotch had missed out on the naming of the victims.

"The girl he saved." Prentiss draped a companionable arm around Reid's shoulders and gave him a one-armed hug. "Hero," she said softly, hoping it would lift some of the gloom that had settled over him.

"But the others…" Reid looked back in the direction of the anonymous graves they'd just left.

"…were gone before we even knew about this case, Reid." Prentiss slid into the backseat beside the young doctor so she could whisper for his ears only, "Besides, taking the blame for everything that goes wrong is Hotch's thing. Don't step on his toes. He doesn't look like a guy who wants to share right now."

Reid looked at their leader sitting in the front passenger seat. The only 'look' he could attribute to Hotch at the moment was…green. And pale. Apparently, Reid's mental journey had been harder on his boss than anyone else. It made him appreciate what Hotch had done to bring him back even more.

Rossi gunned the engine and looked over his shoulder. "Okay, kid. How do we get outta here?"

On the way to the hospital, guided by Reid's occasionally hesitant directions, Hotch called J.J. and Garcia. Once he'd filled them in on the events of the last hour, he asked J.J. to see about getting a forensics team to the gravesites of Brandenhoff's other three victims. As they drove through town on their return route, Reid gasped and jerked upright.

"There's another, Hotch. It's a white house with a porch. We passed it on the way out. I think it's Brandenhoff's, but it was his mother's before that." Reid sighed and rested his forehead against the window. "There's a body buried under the porch…Charlene…Yeah, that's it. Charlene…I think. I'm not sure. Everything's fading." He closed his eyes and watched images blur, perforate, recede.

Hotch added the information to the list of investigations J.J. should initiate. He ended the call and twisted in his seat to get a better look at Reid. Their eyes met. "Wow." It was the only way the Unit Chief could think of to describe the last few days. Reid grimaced.

"I didn't want this, Hotch."

"I know, but it saved someone. And it…found…the others. That's closure for the families. That's important."

"It made you sick, though, didn't it?"

"Maybe because it's your gift, not mine." Hotch sounded tired. "You _are_ gifted, Reid. In many ways."

The doctor resumed looking out the window. "So are you, Hotch. It's just my gift's in my brain; yours is in your soul."

Hotch didn't know how to respond to that. So he didn't.

At the hospital, Hotch and Reid were escorted away to different curtained cubicles. Chief Mayhew and Morgan easily found the team in the small facility.

Mayhew was feeling expansive. He was grateful the nightmare that had hit his community was over. He shook Rossi's hand and thanked him with sincerity as well as concern for the agents who'd somehow contracted flu.

"Sorry about your men getting sick. But, between you and me, both those boys could stand to gain a few…ya know?" The Chief patted his own ample midriff.

Rossi smiled. "I'll pass on the recommendation." In his mind's eye he could see the complete lack of appreciation that would greet such advice. Taking his leave of the police chief, he left Morgan and Prentiss to deal with any additional expressions of gratitude or dietary observations. He went to the nearest nurse's station, flashed his credentials and asked about the girl who'd been brought in.

"We don't know yet, sir." The attending nurse looked genuinely sorry she couldn't give him better news. "It's touch-and-go at the moment. She's on a respirator and full life support is standing by as a precaution." She glanced around to ensure their privacy. "Her parents have been notified and they're on their way…so are her other relatives…just in case. You know?"

"I know. I know all too well." Rossi thanked her and asked where the ICU was. He told himself he wanted a better look at this girl. But in his heart of hearts he knew he wanted to stand close to her while he asked the God of his Roman Catholic upbringing, and any other powers that cared to listen to a man who'd seen too much death, to spare this one child. This one time.

Rossi was surprised to find Reid already standing vigil in Intensive Care. Hands shoved deep in his pockets, his steady gaze was trained on the still form connected to monitors by the same type of tubing that had been part of her crime scene. The two agents stood together, careful to keep out of the path of the steady stream of caregivers monitoring and adjusting equipment in this battle for a life.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. Never better." The words sounded morose, nonetheless.

"Hotch?"

"I think he'll be okay." Reid turned his eyes from the girl to Rossi. "He shouldn't have done that. Come after me like that."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't belong in…there…in places like that. He could have gotten lost, too."

Rossi's smile was grim. "Since when has Hotch ever obeyed a 'keep out' sign when one of the team was at stake?"

"Still. It's all fading for me, Rossi. All the images are slipping away and I'm so, so grateful for that. But Hotch wasn't meant for this kind of thing. What if it doesn't fade for him? What if he can't walk away from it?"

This time Rossi's smile was a little more reassuring. "Kid, you think he doesn't know how to leave stuff like this behind? After all these years?" He placed a comforting hand on the younger agent's back. "Believe me. Hotch knows how to recover from nightmares. Worse ones than this. You're the one we're worried about."

"I'm fine. Never better."

But as Reid turned his attention back to the room with the beeping, flashing monitors, Rossi thought he'd never seen such deep sadness in his friend's eyes. In an unsettling way, they reminded him of Hotch's eyes on a very, very bad day.

Erin Strauss wasn't sure what she was looking for, but rather than stir things up by calling any of the BAU team currently in California, she opted to use the time to explore on her own. She was a shrewd woman. She knew when to trust her instincts and this time they were directing her to IT. If there was any record of intra-office communication regarding clandestine medical treatments for anyone on Hotchner's team, she had a feeling she'd find it in the den of that horrible Garcia woman.

The room was deserted, but Strauss still felt watched. From every shelf and corner some ludicrous little ornamental creature was either gaping at her or grinning or wobbling hologram eyes in her direction. It was disconcerting. And unprofessional. Just like Penelope Garcia. Strauss didn't know why Hotchner had fought to put that woman on his team.

She stood in the center of the glaringly colorful space and trained years of experience along with her native suspicion on every feature, prominent or not. She missed the days when she could rifle through folders and files, looking for an incriminating paper trail. The digital age had killed some of her favorite, time-proven tactics. But data was data. If it wasn't stored on paper and if it was something secret that shouldn't be kept anywhere in a system accessible to the rest of the Bureau, where would Garcia keep it?

Strauss noticed the overstuffed cubbyhole decorated with fringe and baubles glued to its surface. With narrowed eyes she began her search. She didn't rummage. She removed things with care. One at a time. Inspecting each item. She noted where each was in relation to the rest of the cubby's contents so she could put everything back, leaving Garcia unaware that she'd, in effect, been hacked.

_What's this?_ The sparkling, blue kitten looked at Strauss with gentle innocence. But the Section Chief knew what a flash drive was. Her smile became a grin became a chuckle. She'd just found the equivalent of a folder of private papers. She pocketed the little creature and restored order to the cubbyhole. Nothing else in the room grabbed her interest. She was aware that it might be nothing. She knew it could be a long shot.

But her political killer's instinct told Strauss that if there was anything worth investigating in Penelope Garcia's office, it was this eccentric, little flash drive.

She left the IT room and was in a very good mood for the rest of the day.


	15. The Blame Game

In the end, Hotch just wanted to get away from the Needles police force. He appreciated their gratitude and admiration, but they were too happy, too emphatic about owing the feds a 'big one.' And Chief Mayhew had a jovial way of slapping his back that made Hotch's whole body feel a little sore. He also thought it would be good to get Reid back to more familiar surroundings. He couldn't really know what the young genius was thinking or feeling, so he used his own reactions as a barometer. Hotch always felt better after a case when he could drop the badge and gun and shed the suit. The only place he could do that was…home.

At the earliest opportunity they boarded the jet and settled in for the long flight east.

As they had on the flight out, the team sat close together, drawing comfort from proximity. Again, Reid took a seat beside Hotch. There wasn't much discussion. Most of it boiled down to asking Reid and Hotch how they were feeling. General weariness prevented them from asking the burning questions about how Reid had utilized his abilities. Soon, silence reined; each agent deep in his own thoughts. When J.J.'s phone chimed, their attention was drawn to the one-sided conversation.

"Jarreau here….Yes…" Her eyes jumped from Hotch to Reid to a safely anonymous spot beyond the window. "Of course…I understand…Yes, thank you for letting us know." She disconnected and took a deep breath, looking into the distant vista of lightly clouded sky.

"J.J.?" Hotch's quiet voice demanded a response.

"She's gone." The liaison pulled herself back, exchanging the blank, blameless blue outside for the darker color of her leader's eyes. "The girl…Sarah…died a few minutes ago."

Silence.

"Excuse me." Reid maneuvered his way to the aisle and to a seat at the far end of the cabin. He huddled next to a window, head leaning against the glass, back to his teammates.

Hotch rose. Rossi laid a restraining hand on his shoulder, pressing him back down. "Let me." But Hotch refused to stay put. He followed Rossi and took a seat alongside him, opposite the younger agent.

Reid was aware of his companions and their concern. He kept gazing into the infinite distance, shaking his head in impotent denial. Rossi and Hotch could only watch.

"I was too late. Too late for any of them."

"You couldn't have moved any faster, kid. No one could've." Rossi leaned forward. "We had a hell of a time keeping up with you."

"You don't understand." Reid's voice grew thick with unshed tears. "I'm a coward. Sarah died because I'm a coward."

The older agents exchanged baffled looks. Hotch stepped in.

"Reid, you did what no one else could. How does that make you a coward?"

"I knew before we stepped into that room that I'd have to touch Brandenhoff. I didn't. I let all that time slip by because I was afraid. That's why Sarah died. Coward."

"Alright, that's enough of that." Rossi was edging on anger. "I don't know what happens to your…perceptions…when you do what you do, Reid, but I _do_ know that forty-five seconds wouldn't have made any difference in the outcome for any of the victims."

Reid finally turned from the window, eyes damp. "Forty-five seconds? Rossi, I sat there for…" Confusion washed across his features. "…it had to be at least half an hour!"

The older agents looked at each other again.

"You're gonna have to take our word for it, Reid. We weren't even a minute into the interview when you grabbed that guy." Hotch took a deep breath. "If anything caused a delay that might have made a difference, it was me trying to figure out how to reach you when you were…gone…lost. That's on me, not you."

"Forty-five seconds? You're sure?" Heads nodded in absolute certainty.

"Enough." Rossi addressed both the younger agents. "Blaming yourselves gets us nowhere. Reid, the bottom line is, genius that you are, you still have a learning curve. For you to expect to dive into a case in your present…circumstances…and know exactly how to perform in the most efficient, safest manner would be stupid. And that's something even you have to admit, you're not." He angled his head toward Hotch. "As for you…Aaron, we'd still be trying to find those girls and Reid would be God-knows-where if you hadn't been incredibly brave and self-sacrificing and…well…a little stupid, too. So, God bless stupid, noble-hearted leaders and gifted geniuses. Considering how it all ended, I'd say we're the luckiest team in the world right now."

Rossi's voice lowered, softened. "As for your Sarah, Reid…you gave her family the tremendous gift of being able to say 'goodbye.'" He rose and moved off to rejoin the rest of the team. "That is no small thing. Don't you dare discount its value."

Hotch and Reid were left regarding each other from opposite sides of the table. The young doctor decided to bring up one more thing that bothered him.

"You shouldn't have come after me. You didn't know what would happen. And you still don't look so hot. Please don't do it again."

"Sorry, Reid. Can't guarantee I won't." Hotch gave one of his smallest smiles, reserved for close moments that didn't merit true mirth. "I guess I'm just stupid that way."

Strauss had no trouble accessing the flash drive she'd pilfered from Garcia's private stash. At first, she was puzzled by the iconic-looking avatars with Dr. Reid's face and physical likeness. But Strauss was smart. She was good at connecting the dots. It didn't take a brain of Spencer Reid's caliber to tie the electric blue graphics emanating from his head and eyes to the eager message from an institute with the word 'paranormal' in its title.

At first Strauss didn't believe it. If she was correct, the resident genius of the BAU was much, much more than that. She tried to consider the implications and found them numerous and fraught with potential. Not only did she have a weapon to use against Hotchner, but also an asset for her own promotion.

If this was what she thought it was, Aaron was concealing a secret of such magnitude, exposing his part in it should either permanently demote him as untrustworthy where the Bureau's welfare was concerned, or sweep him right out the door, disgraced and unemployable by any other government entity. And if she were the one to present Reid as an indefatigable research-subject-slash-weapon, who knew where the Director's gratitude might lead?

Strauss drummed her fingers and tried to calm herself. The possibilities were beyond exciting. But she needed more proof. She decided to bluff her way through an exchange with Hotchner; pretend she knew everything and see how much more could be learned.

She was confident the Unit Chief would let something slip. She'd been informed by some ludicrously grateful clod named Mayhew at the Needles police station that the team was on its way home. He'd also mentioned that the leader and another seemed to have contracted a virus, probably flu. Add that to the lack of sleep she knew they were all suffering since this case had come at the end of a long work week, and Strauss thought it might be enough to derail Agent Hotchner completely. She'd take advantage of the situation and enjoy watching him fall before her timely tactics.

Less than an hour into their return flight, Hotch's phone buzzed. He snapped out of a doze to see the caller identified as Erin Strauss. Rossi gave him a drowsy look of inquiry.

"Strauss." Hotch shrugged. She probably just wanted a status report from the field.

He was sure he could satisfy her with a brief synopsis. Then he could get back to the rest he so sorely needed.


	16. In Flight

Strauss felt adrenaline spurt through her veins as she entered the code that would connect her to Hotchner. She had two strategies in mind. The first was her standard, tried-and-true method of battering her way through to the truth, browbeating and threatening as she went. The second was one she hadn't used for a long time. And never on Aaron Hotchner. But the information from that Mayhew-clown in Needles made her consider it. What if she deployed kindness instead of criticism? A sick, tired man might respond very favorably to sympathy and some maternal posturing.

Strauss gritted her teeth as a shudder of revulsion scaled her spine. She had been a strict, but loving, mother to her three children. She had never coddled them. She detested coddling. She was about to coddle Agent Hotchner. She decided it was appropriate, because she detested him as much as she detested it.

Strauss reminded herself what was at stake. Certainly she could endure dabbling in distasteful behavior if it meant the end of Hotchner and the beginning of a bright, new future for herself as the procurer and provider of whatever it was Dr. Reid had to offer.

Hotch closed his eyes and lifted the phone to his ear. He tried to speak quietly, hoping he wouldn't disturb the rest of the team as they tried to catnap. He was aware of Rossi keeping an ear open despite his relaxed posture across the aisle.

"Ma'am?"

"Agent Hotchner. I understand you did an excellent job in record time. Congratulations. Well done."

Hotch's eyes snapped open. The syrupy tone of Chief Strauss' greeting was like a DEFCON level one alert blasting through his system. His throat felt dry. He licked his lips.

"Thank you, Ma'am. We're just sorry the…outcome…wasn't happier for the families of the victims."

He noticed Rossi was watching him, eyebrows raised. Hotch widened his own eyes and shook his head. He had no idea what was going on, but had a very bad feeling about it nonetheless. Briefly, the image of a mongoose confronting a cobra flashed through his mind. It wasn't clear at first which party would win, but Hotch could definitely feel a cobra-quality coming at him through his cell. Strauss was weaving and swaying, trying to lull him into hypnotic acquiescence. He was sure of it. He just didn't know why and it was making his still-suffering stomach queasier.

"Of course. We all wish it could have ended otherwise. But you did your best."

"Thank you…Ma'am."

Awkward silence ensued. Hotch really didn't know what to say. After a moment, Strauss cleared her throat and spoke in what she believed was a soothing, comforting tone. "I'm sure you're all exhausted, Agent Hotchner…Aaron…but I do need to touch bases with you about Dr. Reid." She held her breath, hoping fatigue and whatever illness he'd picked up would prompt the Unit Chief to take the bait.

Hotch shivered when Strauss used his Christian name. Beside him, Reid stirred. Sensing his boss' distress, he opened one sleepy eye.

"Dr. Reid? What about him?" Reid's other eye opened.

"Well, I received a very interesting call from…let's see…" Hotch could hear paper rustling. "…from the Paranormal Investigation Center." When Hotch didn't respond, Strauss' voice lost a tiny fraction of its equanimity. "Does that mean anything to you? Is there something you'd like to tell me…Aaron?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch could see Reid pull himself up in his seat. Hotch turned, locking eyes with the younger agent.

"Aaron? Are you still there?" Definitely a sharper edge to the voice probing at him from across the continent.

Hotch took a breath to answer his superior. "As a matter of fact, Ma'am…" He was distracted by Reid shaking his head in a frantic attempt to interrupt. Hotch made an executive decision he hoped wouldn't come back to bite him. "As a matter of fact, I think they might be interested in Dr. Reid's input on some research they've been doing, but I'm not sure. In all honesty, Ma'am, I haven't ever spoken to anyone from…that place." It was true. It gave Hotch's declaration a touch of veracity that Strauss could hear.

Another silence fraught with tension, at least it felt that way inside Hotch's stomach.

"Are you sure, Agent?" Strauss did her best to continue her pose as a friendly force. "Because if there's anything…anything at all…that I could help you with, especially now when you're tired and not feeling your best…you know I'd be glad to step in."

Reid and Rossi were both watching Hotch tap dance his way around whatever land mines Strauss was laying down. Neither had to be prescient to see the effort their leader was expending to sidestep an invisible trap. Hotch's respiration had increased and there was a slight film of perspiration on his upper lip. Although Rossi thought that might be attributable to the lingering aftermath of Hotch's mental journey to find Reid, he was sure Strauss wasn't helping.

"I appreciate that, Ma'am, but I'm not sure what you're referring to. As I said, I've never spoken with anyone from any paranormal institution. Ever."

Strauss could feel the reins slipping from her greedy fingers. She was more sure by the moment that if she could uncover whatever Reid was hiding, expose it to Bureau examination, it would be a tremendous boost for her career. She didn't really care what it did to anyone else. Although, if it booted Hotchner out, her private celebration would be joyous and prolonged. If only she knew for sure. If only she knew more.

It was time to take a risk and throw all her cards on the table.

Strauss dropped the pose of kindly compatriot. It wasn't working on that idiot Unit Chief anyway. And it felt better when she could beat him down rather than fake supporting him.

"Oh, _really_, Aaron? _Really_? Then how do you account for the little item that was discovered in IT?" Hotch's head snapped up, scanning the cabin until he found the mound of colorfully ornamented fabric that was a slumbering Penelope Garcia.

"Ma'am?" The last vestiges of sleep drained away from Rossi and Reid as they saw Hotch suddenly riveted on their tech analyst.

"Don't play coy, Agent. If the graphics didn't clue me in, then the notes in the margins did. Superpowers? Really?"

Hotch swallowed with difficulty. "Ma'am, Ms. Garcia is a very…creative…member of my team. I don't think you should read too much into anything, uh, _extracurricular_ she might have left lying out."

"It wasn't 'left lying out,' Aaron. It was hidden like a valuable secret one wants to protect." Hotch's silence drove her to reveal a little more of her plan than she'd intended. "Do I need to remind you that concealment of anything that could affect your team's performance or the performance of this organization is tantamount to treason? Do I?"

"No, Ma'am. But I'm sure…"

"I'm sure of some things, too, Agent. But the only thing you need to know is that when I get to the bottom of this, there will be a full accounting to the Director and whatever disciplinary board sees fit to mete out punishment in your case."

Rossi and Reid watched the color drain from Hotch's already pale complexion.

"Ma'am, I…I stand by my team. Anything you think they've done wrong is on me, not them."

It was a triumph for Strauss. It wasn't exactly an admission of guilt, but it could be construed as an acknowledgment that something was indeed wrong.

"We'll go over this in detail when you've returned." Strauss closed the connection and leaned back in her chair, smiling at the ceiling. She hadn't had this much fun in a long time.

Hotch watched his phone go dark. His eyes were wide with shock as he returned Reid's and Rossi's stares.

Rossi leaned across the aisle, keeping his voice low in deference to the napping team. "What was that all about?"

Hotch shook his head, recovering from this attack out of the blue. He groped for words. Only one came out. With absolutely no regard for anyone's desire to catch a few winks, the Unit Chief bellowed.

"_**GARCIA!**_"

Maybe there was still some tenuous mental connection between Reid and Hotch. Or maybe after Strauss' call, Reid felt the same way Hotch did. Whatever the reason, Reid gave Hotch what he would need most in the next few minutes.

The young doctor pushed an airsick bag into Hotch's hand just in time.


	17. Something Up His Sleeve

"_**GARCIA!**_"

Hotch wiped his mouth and gave Reid a weary nod in gratitude for his timely presentation of the airsick bag.

"GARCIA! Get over here…NOW!"

The tech analyst struggled to extricate herself from the nest she'd constructed out of her coat-of-many-colors, some pillows, and a couple of blankets. The rest of the team roused as well, peeking over covers and rubbing eyes scratchy from lack of sleep. It flashed across Morgan's mind that the only time he'd seen his boss angrier was when he'd completely lost control and pummeled Foyet to a bloody pulp. Without being summoned, J.J., Prentiss and Morgan gathered around.

Hotch glared. A disheveled Garcia was timidly holding one of the sad, standard-issue blankets in front of her like a shield.

"S-sir?" Maybe it was the air circulating through the cabin, but the woman's very hair seemed to be trembling.

When Hotch spoke, it was with a deadly calm. "Garcia. What did you leave in IT that would cause Strauss to credit Reid with 'superpowers'?"

"What? I…I…Nothing!...I erased everything about him! I promise! I swear!" Frightened eyes darted indiscriminately around the group in a desperate search for a champion. None was forthcoming. Hotch pinned her with his stare.

It was J.J. who broke through what threatened to become a standoff. With a gasp of realization, she stepped closer to the shivering techie. "Oh, Penelope. Please tell me you didn't keep any of those…those avatars? The ones I told you to delete? You didn't, did you?"

Garcia's voice was very small. "Not on the network. I _did_ delete them! There's no way anyone could have accessed them through the internet. No way! Impossible!"

"Gar-ci-a? What did you do?!"

The disappointment in J.J.'s question did more to unhinge the tech analyst than anger ever could. Her heart sank until it felt as though it had vacated her body entirely and was drifting somewhere outside the jet.

"I _did_ delete them. I erased their history…everything. But…" She could feel the tension around her increase. "…I saved a copy where no one would be able to hack it."

"Where would that be?" Hotch's eyes dissected her. She couldn't look away.

"O-on a f-flash drive…sir." It was a soft, shameful admission of guilt that elicited groans, sighs, and a number of eyes closed in suffering disbelief. Garcia hastened to explain. Maybe, if they knew how blameless her intentions were, they wouldn't look at her with such uncomprehending sadness.

"I didn't leave anything behind that anyone could hack. And I just thought Reid might want to see them someday and…and…and, sir, they were on my _personal_ flash drive, hidden way back in my _personal_ things." Garcia's eye widened with realization. "Sir, that means someone went through my personal belongings! My private, don't-touch-'cause-they're-mine, personal stuff! Sir! That's not _right_! That's…that's…_trespassing_!"

Hotch finally freed her from his predatory stare. A lowered head and slumped shoulders were clues to how drained he was feeling. In a voice one would use to instruct a particularly dense child, he addressed Garcia's outrage.

"Nothing in the Bureau is 'private,' Garcia. Once you're cleared to enter that building, you, and everything you bring within its walls, are company property." He looked up at her. All she could see was tragedy in his eyes…and disappointment verging on betrayal. It hurt to know she was the cause. A large tear worked its way through her smudged eyeliner, a trail of darkness marking its progress down her cheek.

"I only wanted to surprise Reid with something…nice…from all this. All he's gone through…he deserves something nice."

Morgan shrugged and rubbed his stubbled jaw. "Got the 'surprise' part right anyway." He sighed and draped an arm around the weeping techie. "C'mon, Baby Girl, it's not the end of the world, is it?"

Rossi shook his head. "Might be the end of life as he knows it for Reid. Might be the end of Hotch's career. And that means the end of this team as we know it."

Stark reality brought on a fresh wave of tears.

"Excuse me." Hotch rose and made his way down the aisle to the bathroom. He hadn't wanted to make Garcia cry, but he wasn't going to comfort her. What Rossi had said was true; an all too accurate summation of her innocent…_stupid_, flitted through Hotch's thoughts…actions.

Hotch splashed cold water on his face and rinsed the sour taste from his mouth. He glanced in the mirror and decided he didn't look up to battling Strauss. He didn't look up to battling a blade of grass. And the stakes were so high. But fight was exactly what he would have to do. He had approximately two-and-a-half hours to come up with a strategy.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. He was used to inventorying his body for injuries in the aftermath of a rough case, but this time he was taking stock of his mind. It was scary, new territory. If he tried, he could still feel something…slippery…dark and rotted…curling through the depths of him. He hoped it would fade the way images did for Reid. Until then, he would just have to ignore it. And stop checking to see how it was doing.

_Garcia_. He turned his thoughts to more immediate problems. He wondered why she thought hiding something, burying it deep within her personal effects, would ensure its security. _Much better to hide in plain sight. Less damning if it's found_. Hotch raised his head. He could almost feel the light bulb hovering over him. _What if…?_

The Unit Chief watched a slow smile spread across the face in the mirror.

It was a dejected bunch of agents huddling together in mutual misery that awaited Hotch's return. When the bathroom door opened and they heard their leader emerge with more energy than he'd entered, a tiny bit of the dark cloud hovering over them shredded and blew away.

"Garcia, did it take you very long to create those Reid-avatars?"

The tech analyst looked unsure, wondering if the answer would place her in an even worse position. "Uh, no, sir. I did them while I was on break, kind of. I didn't use much regular company time…sir…I wouldn't waste…"

Hotch cut her off. "Could you do more…a lot more…by the time we land?"

"I…I guess…I don't understand, sir."

"I want you to make avatars of everyone on the team, including yourself. And whatever notes you put on Reid's, I want similar things written on these. We've got a little over two hours. Can you do it?"

Morgan's chuckle began low and grew to a belly laugh. Prentiss joined in. J.J., Rossi and Reid grinned in varying widths. And Garcia? Her eyes sparkled so brightly with eager hope for redemption that, in comparison, the sooty eyeliner-tear-tracks branding her cheeks were hardly noticeable.

Hotch watched her set up her laptop. "Do you have more of those flash drives, Garcia?"

"Always, sir." She rummaged in the bottom of a huge tote studded with hearts and stars. When she withdrew her hand, it cupped a veritable zoo of whimsical, glittering creatures.

"Start filling them up." Hotch's next order was for the group in general. "Help her. If she runs out of ideas, help her."

Hotch hoped his plan would work, but it needed one more ingredient to make it sizzle.

"Rossi? A word?"

The two older agents stepped away for a quiet, quick conferral, but both looked much more cheerful.

What had been a dejected, gloomy group was now a team, buzzing with creativity. Rossi reflected that it took an exceptional leader to enact such a transformation. He just wondered what else was up Hotch's sleeve.


	18. Let's Make A Deal

Reid didn't know what would happen when they landed in Quantico. As Rossi's dire predictions had hinted, it might be the end of life as they knew it. Hotch might end up imprisoned or simply terminated. The team might undergo some very unpleasant transformations. And as for him?...he tried not to think about life as a lab specimen. He'd rather die. He wondered if, in the last, most extreme moment, if maybe, maybe, his mind was powerful enough to stop the life force beating within him.

Die on command…that's what he'd choose rather than life incarcerated as a test-subject, a lab rat.

Spurred on by the thought of what might await them on the ground in Virginia, Reid dove into the task at hand, applying his considerable powers of focus and concentration to what might be the last pleasant taste of life that he would be able to savor. He watched Garcia's fingers flash across the keyboard. She was giving everything she had to try and make things right. Every so often, she would glance at him. Once she leaned close and pressed her lips against his cheek. With his new abilities, Reid felt that simple touch embodied affection, fear and apology. He couldn't ask for more. He never had.

As much as Spencer Reid had wished for love to bless his life, whether parental, platonic, or romantic…there had been so little, he'd learned to appreciate whatever was given. So even if Penelope might have contributed to destroying the fragile, special creation that was their team, Reid couldn't reject what he knew was a true expression of love and regret. He would never reject sincere emotion. He wasn't built that way.

He threw himself into the project at hand. And after a while, he was truly enjoying himself.

Predictably, Garcia chose Morgan as her first subject for super-avatar-ism. The results were drawn from the classic labors of Hercules with just a sprinkle of Marvel Comics tossed in. It gave Penelope the opportunity to display Morgan's abs and biceps in ways that made Morgan's eyes widen and planted just the tiniest seed of performance anxiety in regards to her expectations of her 'chocolate god.'

Prentiss was credited with all the magnificent attributes of a cross between Wonder Woman and Amazonian warriors. Dark hair and lithe muscles were prominent. When Prentiss saw how well-endowed her avatar was, she laughed and thanked Garcia.

The tech analyst hesitated when J.J. was the subject. Reid grinned and whispered 'angels' into her ear. The results were truly biblical; beautiful and terrible at the same time. J.J. felt unworthy, but flattered, nonetheless.

The subject was Hotch. Looks were exchanged. Eyebrows were raised. Again, Reid's perceptions delved beneath the surface and provided a suitable palette from which to paint their leader as a superhero. "Shape-shifter. Shaman," he said. The Unit Chief would never understand why he'd been depicted as a fox-faced, wolfish creature with unsettlingly sad, human eyes. But neither did he complain about the team's choice.

Rossi was easy. Roman gods provided the inspiration. And even if Prentiss made some ribald comments about toga parties, the avatars were resplendent representations of ancient Italian wisdom and power.

Where Garcia really had trouble was with her own depiction. Morgan suggested an odalisque…an opulent, seductive creature whose hedonistic call could tempt men to their own doom. But Penelope shook her head. Prentiss and J.J. asked her to consider femme fatales of luxurious proportions, like Mae West or Marilyn Monroe. No. It was Reid who found a combination of attributes that appealed to her. With a gentle smile and a slightly mischievous glint in his eye, he pointed out how he sometimes thought she'd missed her calling; he believed vintage circuses like Barnum and Bailey or the Ringling Brothers, would have hired her on the spot once confronted with her sartorial splendor. Garcia became a cross between a clown and a fairy princess. Reid felt the odd combination perfect for the quixotic techie. Apparently, Penelope felt the same. Her rendition was humorous and strangely ethereal. Perfect.

For good measure, once the heroes were created, Garcia tackled portrayals as campy horror figures. She kept them as a team, but rendered the group first as vampires, cloaked and pale…except for a rather ashy-gray Morgan. Next she tried werewolves. Rossi's beard spread across his face to a frightening extent. Mummies, witches and trolls followed.

While the team was engrossed in the creative process that they hoped would save careers and lives, Hotch and Rossi moved to the far end of the cabin for a private conversation.

"Strauss told me that she got a call from that place you sent Reid for testing."

Rossi rubbed his face with one hand. "Oh, no. Aaron, I'm sorry. I credited Carol with more sense than that. She's usually the soul of discretion."

"But Dave, I don't think she actually told Strauss anything. I got the feeling there might have just been a message left. No details. I think Strauss was trying to get information from me first, before going outside the Bureau."

"I hope you're right."

"Me, too. If I am, that means we have a chance to dry up that particular source for Strauss." Hotch glanced at the group huddled around Garcia. Reid looked up and met the Unit Chief's gaze. Hotch suppressed a shiver. He wondered if Reid knew the gist of the conversation…especially the part that was about to be broached.

"You have a history with this ESP doctor, right?" Rossi nodded. "What do you think about calling her and offering her a deal to keep quiet and keep Strauss out of the picture?"

"A deal?"

"Reid was scared to go back there. He wouldn't even talk to her. He was refusing her calls. What if, in return for her…discretion…we let her have access to Reid?"

"If he's scared already, he's not gonna want to go back."

"He won't go alone. It'll be you or me with him at all times." Hotch was warming to the subject; negotiating was one of his strengths. "We'll put a cap on it…say, three sessions with Reid. It'll be at his convenience, but sometime within the next three months. He'll be accompanied and the sessions will be restricted to eight hours…one full working day." Hotch chewed on his lower lip, trying to think if any other conditions were necessary. "You think she'd go for something like that?"

Rossi puffed out a breath and stroked his beard in contemplation…a pose not unlike one Garcia was currently giving to his Roman god avatar. "Question is…will Reid go for it."

Both agents looked at the group. Again, Reid raised his head and confronted their stares.

Hotch motioned him over.

"Reid, we have to move fast, so here's what I'm thinking…"

When Hotch finished explaining his plan, Reid was silent for a moment. He tried to separate himself from his emotional reaction to letting Dr. Bescardi 'have' him. He tested the conditions Hotch and Rossi proposed and, although he was still uneasy, he had to admit he couldn't think of a better way to exert damage control on the whole mess.

Hotch hated the look in the young doctor's eyes. He'd promised to do his best to prevent Reid from becoming someone's lab experiment. Now he was asking him to do just that.

"Reid? We don't have much time. I don't think Strauss will contact that clinic before talking with us, but I can't be sure. We need to beat her to the punch."

Reid closed his eyes and wished with all his heart that, if he had to be a freak with weird brain capabilities, one of them would have been to at least have a _faint_ sense of what the future would bring. But all he could feel was his team's anxiety and a tiny bit of desperate hope.

He looked at Hotch and nodded.

"I'll do it. But I'm scared."

Rossi pulled out his phone and began dialing the number for the Paranormal Investigation Center.

Hotch crossed his arms and said a silent prayer asking that Rossi reach Bescardi before Strauss. He didn't know if it was already too late.

Reid decided a tiny bit of hope, no matter how desperate, was better than none. But as he watched Rossi's call connect, he couldn't help feeling that something completely unforeseen was going to happen to him. Something that would have a tremendous impact on his life and his…evolution. It was the only word he felt encompassed whatever was happening to him.

Reid didn't want to hear Bescardi's voice. He left the older agents to set things up and returned to the group clustered around Garcia.

When an astonishing number of avatars had been produced, Garcia set to work attaching notes to each set as she had for the Reid illustrations. The sky was the limit. Besides the gamut of mental, ESP-ish abilities, the team was credited with fanciful powers like flight, time travel and invisibility.

By the time she was finished, Garcia had populated her flash drives with figures from history, myth, pop-culture and magic. As a final flourish, and at Hotch's insistence, she altered the date and time stamps to make it appear that creation had taken place over a span of several months.

She once again consigned the drives to the bottom of her purse and gave Reid a timorous smile.

The youngest agent tried to return it, but they'd begun the landing approach to Quantico. He looked around the group and realized he couldn't tell if the anxiety roiling through him was his own or a conglomerate of the team's.

The only two things Reid knew for sure were that he wished the nervous feeling would go away, and that he was glad there were more airsick bags available…just in case.


	19. Confrontation

Coffee cups were being stacked in the kitchen area and seatbelts were being buckled in preparation for landing when Rossi and Hotch slipped into their seats. Rossi looked across the aisle to where Reid gazed out a window, watching the Quantico airstrip grow larger.

"It's set, kid. Dr. Bescardi went for it. And it turns out she didn't talk to Strauss. All she did was leave a message that she wanted to get you back as soon as possible and she didn't think it was right for someone with your…abilities…to refuse her request. In the name of science, she was imploring Strauss to send you back to her." Rossi met the younger agent's look of dread with an encouraging grin. "The important thing is that Strauss has no proof _why_ Bescardi wants you. You're safe, kid."

Hotch raised his voice, commanding the attention of the entire team. "Listen up, everyone. This is how it is if anyone asks: Reid's help is being requested on a research project involving ESP. Not as a test subject, but as someone whose background in statistical data will come in handy. None of us mentioned this to the higher-ups, because it has absolutely nothing to do with the Bureau. It's an extracurricular interest of Reid's. That's all." Hotch paused before addressing the next item about which they'd all have to present a united front.

"And just as Reid's hobby is statistics, Garcia's is avatars. She's been creating them on her own time, on her own equipment. She brings them in on flash drives to show you guys. Normally, she carries them with her, but she lost one recently and it's been driving her crazy. As a matter of fact, Garcia, you're going to be very grateful to Strauss for having found it. You're going to ask for it back because it's part of your collection. And you're going to be willing to show the rest of that collection when Strauss asks to see it. Got it? Everyone?"

Assorted nods and mumbled responses in the affirmative cemented the…profile…that the team would assume in order to protect one of their own.

Reid felt an increase in nervous energy. Looking over at Hotch, he saw the Unit Chief take a few deep breaths. He couldn't tell if it was to calm himself or to battle nausea again. Reid frowned. Once the initial meeting with Strauss was over, he wanted to talk to Hotch in private. He just needed reassurance that his boss' mental and emotional state had stood up to that ill-conceived rescue attempt. The young doctor wasn't sure how he'd manage that, but he thought being in close proximity without the psychic interference of a group might give him a clue.

Reid looked around the cabin. All these people were willing to lie for him. He reflected that Benjamin Franklin had once said "Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead." But the support, trust and determination Reid felt emanating from this close-knit group made him smile. He had a feeling they were about to discredit the great Franklin.

Strauss couldn't contain herself. She was waiting on the catwalk overlooking the perimeter of the BAU bullpen when the team straggled in, go-bags in hand.

"Showtime," Rossi muttered under his breath.

"Like unsubs _outside_ the BAU aren't enough…" Prentiss' sarcasm only reflected what the others were thinking as well.

Reid felt a nervous surge ripple through the group. He glanced through their ranks, drawing strength from a sense of unified purpose. The only thing that made him balk was when he saw the airsick bag Hotch was carrying surreptitiously, trying to keep it hidden by wrapping it around the grip of his bag.

"Aaron! Come here." Strauss' command was a demonstration of control, a psychological tool to set the scene of a superior dealing with a lesser being. Clearly, Hotch was already headed her way. After all, she was standing at the railing just outside his office door.

The others scattered to their respective desks. J.J. took an alternate staircase to avoid the bristling harpy glaring down at them. Rossi trailed after Hotch. Although his office was adjacent to the Unit Chief's, Rossi's aim was to deflect Strauss' attack if it came down too heavily on his friend.

"So nice of you to meet us, Erin." Rossi's smile was more of a smirk. Strauss replied with narrowed, ice-chip eyes.

She stood to the side and inclined her head toward Hotch's office. "Inside, Agent." Hotch sighed and entered. He knew the game she was playing; giving orders that coincided with his intentions so it would look as though he were obeying her. He decided to save his energy for more meaningful exchanges. When your opponent was in better shape and in superior position, it would be foolish to waste effort on preliminary scuffles. Hotch took a deep breath and readied himself for the main battle.

Strauss gave Rossi an evil look, but didn't try to dismiss him when he followed her into the office. She closed the door, crossed her arms, and faced her Unit Chief.

"Explain yourself, Aaron."

"Ma'am?"

"You know what I mean. You're hiding something about Agent Reid. Something to do with the paranormal. I already have a good idea what it is, but I'm giving you a chance to make this…treasonous secrecy…right." She leaned back, bracing herself against the edge of Hotch's desk. "It'll be much better for you if you meet me halfway, Agent. It could mean the difference between imprisonment or simply disgrace."

Hotch's shoulders slumped. "Ma'am, with all due respect, I don't know where you're getting your information. After your call, I spoke with Dr. Reid. His outside interests…"

A knock at the door interrupted him. Before permission to enter was given, the door opened and the doctor in question poked his head around the corner.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but it'll just take a minute. Okay if I come in?"

Strauss' lips thinned. She was beginning to feel outnumbered, but since this young agent was the subject of their discussion, she gave a reluctant nod. Reid stepped forward, leaving the door ajar.

"Hotch, I just wanted to ask for a personal day next week?" The Unit Chief looked blank. "For that project I told you about. It's kinda hard to synch-up with Dr. Bescardi, but there's a lecture in the city at NYU and I was hoping to get to it anyway, so…could I have next Wednesday off?" A moment of silence followed Reid's request. Hotch blinked, caught on and turned to Strauss.

"That's what I was trying to tell you, Ma'am. As I was saying, Agent Reid has outside interests. Lots of them. All I can tell you is he's a valuable asset to others as well as the Bureau. He doesn't let it interfere with his work here. And I try to accommodate him whenever possible." Hotch addressed Reid directly. "I don't see a problem with next Wednesday. But the usual conditions apply: if something comes up, you'll have to change your plans. Work comes first."

"Thank you, sir." Reid backed toward the door. As he gave a respectful nod to Strauss, he saw the edge of something clutched in her hand. His eyes widened in delight. "Ma'am! You found it!" All eyes followed Reid's. Strauss looked down at her hand and opened it to reveal the glittering, blue kitten that she had hoped would seal Hotchner's fate and boost her up the professional ladder.

Reid's grin was genuine enough to make even Hotch and Rossi believe him. "Garcia's been looking all over for that! She's been going crazy!" Before anyone could respond, Reid leaned through the doorway and called down into the bullpen. "Hey, Morgan! Get Garcia. Her flash drive's up here." As Morgan picked up his phone, ostensibly to notify Penelope of the location of her lost property, Reid beamed at Strauss. "I told her it would turn up. Where was it, Ma'am?"

If Erin Strauss could kill with a glance, Hotch would have evaporated on the spot. She had a feeling she was being tricked, but if this team was determined to defy her and close ranks against her, then she'd made a fatal tactical error. She was kicking herself for making the wrong choice. She should have contacted that doctor at the paranormal place instead of jumping the gun and calling Hotch. Now that dithering Garcia woman was mincing through the door, exclaiming over how glad she was that the Section Chief had found her flash drive. She babbled on about her hobby and how the set wouldn't be complete without the one devoted to Reid. Strauss let the insipid creature's ramblings continue until it became clear that an entire library of such drives with an entire universe of improbably gifted beings based on her team members was being offered for Strauss' perusal.

Strauss slapped the drive into Garcia's imploring, outstretched hand. Head high, she decided to cut her losses…for the present. On her way out, she stepped to within inches of Agent Hotchner and fixed him with a venomous stare.

"I know what you're doing here, Aaron. Don't think this is over. Someday you're going to slip and I'll be there to watch you fall."

Unfortunately, the Section Chief chose to linger a moment too long, driving her point home with her withering glare. She prolonged the moment because she thought she was responsible for the flicker in the depths of Hotchner's eyes and the sudden drain of color from his face. Too late, she realized her second biggest error of the day.

For the third and last time, Hotch vomited.

Strauss fled, her sensible shoes trailing sick all the way back to her office.


	20. Cleaning House

They let a few minutes pass after Strauss' abrupt departure, just to be certain she didn't return. Then the team gathered in Hotch's office. Giggles, snickers and self-congratulations were cut short when it became clear to all that Hotch still wasn't feeling well. Rossi pushed him down into a chair and frowned at him. Prentiss laid a hand across his forehead, feeling for fever. J.J. ran for a glass of water and something bland to settle an uneasy stomach from one of the vending machines in the kitchen. She also brought paper towels to cover up what they chose to call the "Strauss repellant," pending the arrival of the Bureau janitorial service.

The fuss didn't last long. It was late and Hotch told everyone to go home. Rossi and Reid remained. Rossi, because he had a paternal streak where the Unit Chief was concerned and wanted to be sure he could get home on his own. Reid, because he wanted a chance to be one on one with Hotch. He had a feeling he might be able to understand what was going on with his boss if his psychic antenna wasn't picking up interference from the others. And the last few days had taught Reid to trust his hunches. He didn't think Rossi's calm presence would hamper him.

When things were quieter and the office was almost deserted in deference to the late hour, Reid pulled up a chair facing Hotch.

"I'm fine, Reid. Go home." Hotch let himself slide down in his seat so he could rest his head against the upholstered back.

Reid didn't speak. He peered at Hotch's face with an intensity that began to make his boss uncomfortable.

"Do I have to make that a direct order?" Hotch closed his eyes and sighed. "It's been a long day. I'm just tired."

Rossi nudged Reid. "Is he? Just tired?"

The young doctor continued to stare, seeing something Rossi couldn't. Hotch opened one eye. "And I'm not taking my shirt off again so you can…whatever…_see_ me, I guess." The eye drifted shut. "Go home. Both of you."

"I don't think I need you to lose the shirt anymore." Before Hotch could respond, Reid scooted his chair closer, reached out and let the fingers of one hand lightly touch the fabric over Hotch's chest. The Unit Chief's eyes flew open, while Reid's closed. Rossi exchanged looks with Hotch and shrugged. He had no idea what was happening, but he wasn't afraid of Reid getting lost in their leader's thoughts as he had with Arthur Brandenhoff. For one thing, the thoughts he might be accessing now weren't those of a psychotic killer.

Long minutes passed. The two older agents were reluctant to move or speak. They didn't want to interrupt whatever Reid was doing. When Rossi began to think he should shake the young doctor to see if he was still with them, Reid spoke.

"Concentrate, Hotch." His voice was slow, almost distant.

"On what?"

"You know what. You can feel it like…like…_dark smoke_ is how you thought of it earlier today…on the jet. Dark and vaporous, curling around in your spirit. You know what I mean, Hotch."

Rossi saw real fear pass across their leader's features. This was something neither of them understood. And even if Reid was a colleague, a teammate, a _friend_…it was eerie. Hotch shivered and felt Reid's fingers press harder against his chest. He licked his lips, swallowed nervously, and then, as Rossi knew he would, surrendered himself completely to Reid. It was a reflection of the trust Hotch gave without reservation to each member of his team. The Unit Chief leaned his head back again and squeezed his eyes shut, following Reid's instructions as best he could.

For his part, Reid's face assumed the expression they'd seen when he'd first demonstrated his ability, when he'd first touched Hotch and experienced all the pain and grief of being attacked and of losing a loved one so brutally. Blank. Impassive. Almost inhuman in its serenity.

Part of Reid was elated.

This was a completely different journey. Although he could sense the presence of something ugly that didn't belong here, Hotch's mind, or soul, or whatever this psychic landscape could be called, was a welcoming place. Reid liked it. Until he realized he was thinking that, if he had to get lost somewhere, this wouldn't be a bad place to let it happen.

Alarm spread through him, followed by one of the young doctor's favorite feelings: the sensation of having learned something, grasped it so completely and thoroughly that ownership could now be claimed. _So a pleasant place is just as dangerous as a horrifying one_, he thought. _Never let your guard down_. _Remember why you're here and get on with it_.

But it was hard not to explore. So much knowledge and experience different from his own. All he had to do was focus himself and _expect_ to find whatever he wanted. It was like walking down a path, turning a corner and seeing, spread before him, emotions and memories like fantastical constructions. It was beautiful. Seductive. _Stop it! Remember why you're here!_

It was like learning how to drive. Reid had to discover what mental mechanics would route him in the right direction. He remembered the avalanche of sorrow he'd felt the first time he'd touched Hotch and within seconds, felt it approaching. He was delighted when he found what he would always think of as 'putting on the brakes' prevented that part of Hotch from overwhelming him. _I'm learning! I can do this! REMEMBER WHY YOU'RE HERE!_

Distasteful as it was, Reid let himself expect to find something alien, dark, destructive. And there it was. He knew Hotch had seen it as an oily kind of smoke, vaporous and insubstantial. To Reid it appeared as heavier, almost serpentine, almost sentient. But not quite. If it _had_ been a calculating thing, it would have been much scarier. As it was, the young doctor imagined himself herding the thing to the edge of a cliff and pushing it off into a blank void. It wasn't quite so simple. The thing coiled and spun and tried to slip around and over and under. There was no thought to it, rather an instinctive desire to continue. Reid was persistent. He refused to let the thing get past him. In reality, he didn't know where it went. But he felt it depart. And the landscape around him,…_Hotch's spirit?_...freshened, somehow.

_I bet Garcia would see this as rebooting a computer._ Reid felt his mind do what would pass for a smile. It faded. He was faced with the task of getting out, of returning. He realized he still didn't really know how to do that. _Calm down. This is a friendly place; conducive to learning. Figure it out_.

What felt like hours passed, but Reid remembered Rossi saying something about his sense of time altering when he was engaged in this type of mental gymnastics. _Don't panic. Think. Think_. But he couldn't come up with anything. He curled into a miserable, little ball and felt lonely. _Hotch, I'm sorry. I'm lost again. I'm scared_. It was like a warm breeze. A wave of affection and gratitude engulfed him. _Hotch?_

_Find me_. It was fainter, not the desperate plea of last time. And it didn't hurt. There was no conflict. Reid turned toward the warmth and felt himself sliding faster and faster. So fast his stomach turned flips. He remembered a carnival ride he'd taken as a child. It was like that. Scary, but mostly in a good way. He was revolving, spinning, being thrown clear…

…and he was back.

It was over so quickly. Rossi saw Hotch give himself up. Reid's fingers were steepled against the Unit Chief's chest. After a moment, they spread. Reid's hand flattened and pressed harder. A faint smile quirked one side of the young agent's mouth. Rossi could swear he whispered 'Gotcha!' The smile seemed to transfer from Reid to Hotch. It grew to a grin and then both men opened their eyes and sat straighter, breath labored, but returning to a regular rhythm in minutes.

Remembering the last time these two had emerged from their mental journey, Rossi had a trash can ready. He wavered between them, wondering who would empty his stomach first. He was relieved when Reid gagged, but didn't follow through. Hotch didn't seem queasy at all.

"Everyone back? Everyone okay?" Rossi looked from agent to agent.

Reid leaned in and looked at their leader. His color was better and he didn't look so drawn. "How do you feel, Hotch?"

"Better. Don't know how to describe it. Lighter? Cleaner inside? Definitely weird."

Rossi stowed the trash can beside the desk, grateful it wasn't needed. "I think it's time to pack it in for the day. Are you two going to be okay on your own or do you need a little help?"

"I'm fine, I think." Hotch shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Long day. I just want to sleep now."

Reid's head was tilted, considering his boss. "Rossi, I don't know for sure, but I think he's going to have nightmares about all this. Maybe he could use some company tonight?"

"Hotch, does Jessica have Jack?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, until I pick him up. Didn't know for sure when we'd get back."

Rossi took Hotch's arm and helped him up. "Then she can keep him until tomorrow. You're spending the night at my place. Reid? You want to come, too?"

The doctor looked thoughtful. "No, I'm good. But thanks." He remained distracted as they made their way through the corridors toward the Bureau's subterranean garage. Before parting for the night, Rossi took another long look at Reid.

"Something bothering you other than this whole strange ride we went on today?"

Reid turned to face his colleagues. "Yeah. Actually, I didn't know it at the time; it was just a way to throw Strauss off the track. But I think I really want to go to New York and the paranormal center next Wednesday." He hesitated. When he looked at Rossi and Hotch again, there was conviction in his voice. "No, I _need_ to go next Wednesday…can't explain. Weird."

As they watched Reid stow his bag and get behind the wheel, Rossi turned to the Unit Chief. "'Weird' about sums it up. C'mon, Aaron. Let's go home. We could both use some rest. And I have a feeling young Dr. Reid isn't done throwing us curves."

Halfway to Rossi's mansion, Hotch turned to him. "So you wanna draw straws for who goes with Reid next Wednesday?"

"Nah. It'll be me, Aaron. There are some things I need to set straight with Carol Bescardi…as one Italian to another."


	21. Magic Happens

At the Paranormal Investigation Center, room 1106, Dr. Bescardi's staff was ready and waiting for her prize specimen. She wanted to make the most of this first-of-three sessions. It would last a full eight hours; well beyond closing time, but Bescardi had authorized double overtime. The doctor quivered with eagerness to examine this subject. She was making sure equipment and personnel were prepared, leaving word for the receptionist to announce Reid's arrival without delay. Every minute was precious.

Anticipation for the star subject meant the girl in the waiting room, who had been given an appointment a week ago, was shunted to the back of the line. She'd been told to go home and reschedule, but something made her want to linger. She always heeded her hunches. They had yet to disappoint her. Plus, she wanted to see what all the excitement was about. What luminary had hijacked her spot on the calendar? She pulled a book from the satchel she always carried and took a seat opposite the entry. She had a tendency to get lost in reading material. She didn't want that to happen. She hoped she wouldn't miss Bescardi's star subject if she was mere feet away and facing the entry.

When Reid opened the door to 1106, the first thing he saw was a girl. The draft created by his and Rossi's entrance...lifted…her hair. It settled back into place almost immediately, but not before an image of bird's wings flashed across Reid's mind. Delicately feathered, brown wings. Lifting…then settling. He was surprised to see another patient. The girl glanced at him. Too quickly for anything to register other than the impression of…blue…sharp, alpine blue. The flash of color disappeared as she lowered her eyes, engrossed in what looked like a textbook.

Rossi bumped into the young doctor as he hesitated in the doorway.

"Kid! Warn a guy when you put on the brakes like that." Rossi was a little grumpy about the early flight they'd had to catch. He wasn't looking forward to sticking by Reid's side either. He didn't expect to be involved, so it would be a very boring day for him. The only thing he _was_ looking forward to was a very frank discussion with Carol Bescardi. Even if he didn't like her area of expertise or how she made Reid uneasy, Rossi liked looking at her. She was the kind of Italian woman who inspired artists and poets. At least that was true if you weren't gifted with psychic abilities like Reid's. Then her single-minded enthusiasm made her a little scary.

"Uh, sorry. Sorry." Reid moved forward, catching the receptionist's attention. Her toothy grin made him feel like a minnow being ushered into a shark's gaping maw.

"Dr. Reid!" She rose and motioned him to enter the testing area through the inner door beside her glassed-in desk. "Dr. Bescardi is ready whenever you are." When Rossi followed, her jovial expression faltered. "Uh, sir, may I help you?"

"Where he goes, I go." He flashed his badge and brushed past her. If he'd had more sleep, or less wine the night before, Rossi would have been more personable. As it was, he let his jacket flap open to reveal the fact that he was armed. Unnecessary really, but when coupled with the badge, it did wonders for smoothing the way past officious underlings.

Much to the receptionist's relief, Bescardi had been listening for the agents' arrival. She hurried to meet them. She had accepted the conditions of Reid's continued participation in her studies: discretion and secrecy, especially where the Bureau was concerned, a limited number of appointments with the young doctor, and the constant presence of a chaperone. In truth, she would have agreed to even more stringent restrictions to get this specimen back in her lab. Also in truth, her agile mind was turning and twisting and inspecting; trying to find a way to ensure additional access to Dr. Reid once the three sessions were up.

"Dr. Reid! _You _are a very difficult man to reach. No matter. You're here now and we have so much to do. I hope you're as excited as I am to get started." Bescardi chose not to notice that the young agent had shoved his hands in his pockets and had let his posture go a little concave. _Really! You'd think I was accosting him!_ She couldn't conceive of anyone demonstrating reluctance for the pursuit of knowledge. She wouldn't expect that of someone with the education and IQ of Reid. Rossi, yes. Reid, no.

"And Dave! It's been…how long?" She chose to ignore her own question and fly past the need for a response. She was just so _relieved_ that the test subject had actually shown up. "No matter. It's good to see you. Shall we g…" Bescardi would have continued in a breathless barrage fueled by eager anticipation, but Reid interrupted.

"Who's the girl out there?" He nodded in the direction of the waiting room. Bescardi would have brushed the question off, but Reid wasn't following her. He seemed determined to have an answer. He was wasting precious research time. Bescardi had to think a moment before she remembered the appointment she'd almost forgotten and had to cancel at the last minute, in favor of the proven talents of Dr. Reid.

"Ah, yes. Possibly an interesting subject, but one who will wait for another time." A small frown creased her brow. "She was told to reschedule. I really have no idea why she's still here."

Rossi wondered if anyone else had noticed that Reid had referred to a person; Bescardi had referred to a 'subject.' Her natural tendency to dehumanize sent a shiver of apprehension up his spine. "Before we get any further, Carol, we need to talk."

Bescardi grimaced. _How much more time are we going to waste!?_ She recovered quickly. This was just another hurdle. Get over it as quickly as possible. "Of course. We can talk in here." She opened the nearest door, revealing a small examination room and ushered the agents before her. Rossi complied. Reid hesitated and then backed away, holding up a temporizing hand.

"You guys go ahead. I'll just be a minute." He noticed the fearful expression on Bescardi's face. "Really, I'll be right back."

"Let him go." Rossi stepped further into the room and waited for Bescardi to follow.

"Don't get lost, Dr. Reid. We have so little time and so much to accomplish." The last statement was aimed at both agents; a reminder and a reprimand for impeding scientific progress.

"Be right back," Reid repeated and fled down the hall.

She was halfway out when Reid re-entered the waiting room, but she stopped, hitching her satchel higher onto a shoulder that would only hit the young doctor at mid-chest. When the inner door flew open and she saw Reid, she stopped. From their respective entryways, they regarded each other curiously.

"Uh…hi?" _Great, Reid! What a great opening line! Morgan would be so proud of everything he taught you!_

She stared at him, but a small, Mona Lisa smile touched her lips. He took it as encouragement.

"I'm…I'm Spencer Reid. Uh, Dr. Spencer Reid."

She ducked her head and almost laughed. It might have defeated the young agent, but then she turned those alpine-blue eyes on him and he saw humor, not ridicule.

"I'm Anastasia."

"Like the doomed Russian Grand Duchess?"

Her smile broadened. "Oh, it gets even better. My middle name is Kassandra-with-a-K."

"Like the prophetess, doomed to be doubted…"

"…only with a 'K.'"

"Wow. Those aren't easy names to live up to. But they're beautiful," he hastened to add.

"Thank you."

"Your parents must have loved legends, myths, and history."

She tilted her head to the side and he decided the word to describe her features was…_elfin_. Small and delicate and masking secrets. She turned to leave.

Reid didn't want the conversation to end. He struggled to think of something, anything more to keep it going. But all he could say was…

"Wait!"

She turned back and looked…through him. That was how it made him feel. Her eyes were slightly unfocused.

"Wait…" He repeated it softly.

"Don't worry. I will."

And she was gone.

It was a very distracted Reid who returned to Rossi and Bescardi.


	22. The Italian Connection

Dr. Carol Bescardi watched Reid dash down the hall toward the waiting area. She couldn't help thinking that the exit was in the same direction.

"Don't worry. He'll be back." Rossi took a seat in the examination room and motioned for Bescardi to do the same.

"In the meantime, we should talk. I want to be sure we're on the same page when it comes to Dr. Reid's contribution to your studies." Rossi watched Bescardi's apprehension as she allowed her subject to disappear from view. At last, she closed the door, ensuring their privacy, and took a seat.

"Dave, I already agreed to all your restrictions. What more could you possibly want?"

Rossi expelled the long-suffering sigh of a man who knows when he's being played. "The very parameters you agreed to also give you ammunition, Carol. They tell you how important it is that Reid's condition…talents…abilities…whatever you want to call them, remain private."

The doctor licked her lips and blinked. From where Rossi sat, it looked almost flirtatious, as though some of Bescardi's personal arsenal was being brought to bear on him. Rossi took a deep breath and regarded her with an expression so bland, it shouted that such tactics were useless.

"We have a common heritage." He smiled. "One that is hallmarked by strategizing and manipulation. I can't help thinking that you're already toying with the idea of extending Dr. Reid's participation past any point with which he would be comfortable."

"You make me sound like a monster. How would I do such a thing?" She was still trying to sway him with her natural gifts. Her lips pouted a little too much. With a manicured hand, she patted lustrous, dark hair, drawing his attention to one of her best features. She shifted position in her chair in ways that accentuated her curvaceous figure. Rossi appreciated, but didn't fall prey.

"Let's pretend you're as smart as we both know you are. And as driven. When my young friend's three sessions with you are over, I suspect you'll have a great deal of information and knowledge you didn't have before. But you'll want even more." Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms as he watched Bescardi's carefully composed features. She wasn't giving anything up. He'd expected no less.

"The first thing you will be tempted to do is keep Dr. Reid against his will. We both know that won't work, because I, or someone just as potentially lethal, will be with him to ensure his freedom isn't compromised." Rossi's eyes were steady, cataloguing Bescardi's every reaction with his profiler's training.

"The second thing you'll consider is blackmail." _Bingo_. Her eyes flickered ever so slightly. "If you reveal Reid's identity and the identities of those at the Bureau who've helped you gain access to him, a number of careers and at least one life will be irrevocably ruined." She watched him with half-lidded calculation. "But you haven't yet realized the consequences for yourself. All you see is your own success. Accolades. Awards. Recognition. A career whose impact will almost certainly live long after you and I and Reid are gone." Bescardi's eyes glistened. Rossi could tell she'd imagined these very things. She'd probably lulled herself to sleep at night with just such imagined accomplishments. He shook his head.

"Carol, I'm going to do you a huge favor and tell you exactly what would happen should you take any steps to reveal Reid's or mine, or any other agent's role in your research." Rossi leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, hands clasped. Bescardi held her ground, lifting her chin in defiance, making Rossi think she had not only considered blackmailing Reid, but had actually begun mapping out a plan. One which she believed to be extremely viable.

"As you know, my career is two-fold. As a senior agent in the FBI, I have extensive contacts in government. As a prolific and successful author, I am equally well-connected in the publishing world." Rossi leaned closer, aiming himself at his target.

"If you threaten us in any way, Carol, three things will happen. First, I will use my contacts in government to dry up all federal and state funding for this institution. Second, I will use my considerable influence as an author to make sure no additional work of yours will ever be published. Third, I will instigate a campaign in both my areas of expertise to discredit you and anything you have accomplished to date. You will end up unemployed, unemployable, and a laughing stock; a professional joke." Bescardi's posture hadn't changed, but she no longer looked as vibrant as when she'd taken a seat.

"So tell me, would you risk your future as well as your past accomplishments? Would forcing Reid to submit to a lifetime of testing be worth the complete destruction of your own professional life?" When she swallowed and her shoulders slumped, Rossi smiled inwardly. He hadn't been totally sure of the outcome. When Bescardi had referred to the girl in the waiting room as a 'subject,' he'd wondered if she had already crossed the thin line between dedication and fanaticism. He was relieved to see she hadn't.

He was also relieved to see she could be a gracious loser.

Bescardi relaxed, no longer posturing or posing in an effort to appeal to the man before her. Her dark, red lips spread in a genuine smile, broadening into a rueful laugh.

"Alright, Dave. I see your point. What's more, I _concede_ your point. But there is another possibility I would like you to at least consider." Rossi raised his eyebrows, encouraging her to continue. "What if Dr. Reid willingly decides to continue with me, maybe even to join the Center on a permanent basis? Would you and your Bureau accept that?"

Rossi returned her smile. "If Reid elected to do that, I would have to be very, _very_ sure that he wasn't being coerced in any way whatsoever."

The battle was over. At least for the time being. The two Italians regarded each other with mutual respect, leavened with just a touch of distrust. Rossi was sure Reid would never abandon the BAU in favor of this paranormal clinic. But he was also sure Bescardi would try to persuade him to do just that.

Reid watched the door to the waiting room swing shut behind the girl. _Anastasia Kassandra. With-a-K_. His return trip to the room where Bescardi and Rossi waited was at a sedate pace, allowing him time to examine the encounter he'd just enjoyed; to turn it over in his mind and relive it several times over. It gave him a better understanding of the conflicting feelings he'd had about continuing this relationship with Dr. Bescardi and the Paranormal Investigation Center. He'd dreaded coming here, knowing that Bescardi wanted to possess him, to own him the way she would a lab animal whose sole purpose was to provide her with data. But he'd also felt drawn. There was something waiting for him, looking for him just as he was seeking it. Some reason he _had_ to make this appointment and keep it. With inward vision Reid watched the feathery settling of her hair and that first, brilliant flash of blue. As he walked down the hallway, he knew he was smiling and probably looked a little…well,…_goofy_.

He didn't care.

It was only when he realized he hadn't gotten her last name that the reality of the situation supplanted the pleasure he was feeling. No phone number. No address. No last name. Again, Reid thought Morgan would be tearing his nonexistent hair out if he knew.

But the lapse in his happiness was only momentary. It didn't matter. He _knew_ he'd see her again. As he turned the knob and opened the door to where Bescardi and Rossi waited, he heard the echo of her voice, telling him not to worry, telling him she'd wait.

He believed her.

Spencer Reid was astounded and mystified to realize he trusted a total stranger. He was a man of science whose analytical mind demanded proof and evidence. But this was different. He knew it was tied in some way to the strange evolution his brain was experiencing.

For the first time since it had begun, he was eager to see where it would lead.

For the first time since it had begun, Reid was looking forward to tomorrow.


	23. The Morning After

Rossi was bored and tired, but he couldn't imagine what Reid must be feeling. The young agent's brain and perceptions, emotions and reactions, were catalogued ruthlessly during a grueling eight hour session. Rossi had planned on a late flight back to Quantico, but when he saw how drawn and pale Reid looked, he vetoed the idea.

At precisely the eight hour mark, Rossi had collared the younger agent, hustling him out of the research area and into the waiting room. Bescardi was in close pursuit.

"Really, just a _few_ more tests and we can call it a day, yes?" The doctor's own fatigue and excitement caused her faint Italian accent to thicken.

"No!" Rossi glared at her. "Eight hours was the limit. We have reached that limit, Carol." He placed a gentle hand on Reid's back and kneaded the tense muscles between his shoulder blades. "We'll let you know when the next session will be, but for now, for tonight, we're done." His eyes dared her to refute the terms of their agreement. She didn't. She was smarter than that. But she was also persistent.

"Wouldn't you like to make your next appointment now? We can schedule you in any time at all. Completely at your convenience. Yes?"

Rossi answered for his weary colleague. "Agent Reid will let you know when to expect him. We're done, Carol." Draping an arm around Reid's shoulders, Rossi escorted him out of Bescardi's office, out of the building, and out into the city night.

Cooler air went a long way to reviving Reid, but he still looked drained. Rossi walked slowly, keeping a supportive hand at his friend's elbow.

"We're not getting on a flight, kid." Reid's response was an indecipherable mumble. "I'm checking us into a decent hotel and we're ordering room service. I'll call Hotch and let him know we'll be in tomorrow mid-day."

Reid's pace faltered. "Actually, if you talk to Hotch, could you ask him if I can stay a little longer than that?"

Rossi was instantly on alert. "Did I miss something? Did Bescardi or anyone else at that place say something to you about going back tomorrow?"

"No. Rossi, no." Reid stumbled. The older agent tightened his grip on his friend's arm. "There really is a lecture I wanted to attend. At NYU. About theoretical physics and the Schwarzchild wormhole."

Rossi chuckled and gave Reid a friendly squeeze. "Don't bother explaining it to me, kid. If you feel well enough to go tomorrow, that's fine with me. I'll ask Hotch if we can spare you."

"Good. That's good. 'Cause I just have this feeling it'll be interesting and I really wanna go."

An hour later, ensconced in a five-star hotel courtesy of David Rossi's VISA, the two agents could finally relax. Rossi called Hotch and brought him up to date. He relayed Reid's request for additional down time. As usual, Hotch's only condition was that Reid return sooner if a case arose that required their resident genius' presence.

Room service was ordered, but before Rossi's prime rib or Reid's tacos arrived, the young doctor had fallen asleep.

Rossi enjoyed his dinner solo. He sent the service trolley back with Reid's uneaten meal. After removing the young doctor's shoes and belt, he covered him with a blanket. Once he'd made arrangements for a wake-up call, Rossi took a closer look at his colleague.

In sleep, Reid looked like a slightly messy, slightly undernourished, grad student. Rossi shook his head and marveled that such an average façade could mask such tremendously strange resources. It was a bit unsettling. _You'd never suspect what goes on in that brain. But he's not the only one_. Rossi considered the implications of an institute devoted to the study of mental phenomena. And an institute whose primary funding came from government sources.

Rossi yawned and retired to his own bed. _I wonder how many like him are out there?...and if they ever find each other…If they do, Carol would probably instigate a selective breeding program…_

Rossi's dreams were a restless amalgamation of super-beings and supervised procreation.

Both agents were a little groggy after the wake-up call came. While Reid showered, Rossi ordered an enormous breakfast. There had been no lunch break the day before. The younger agent hadn't eaten for more than 24 hours. Rossi reminded himself to make sure whoever accompanied Reid next time would bring snacks and insist on at least a couple of ten minute recesses.

A heavily-laden service cart arrived just as the shower turned off. When a damp, rumpled Reid emerged, Rossi was grateful for the opportune timing. The young doctor made a beeline to the source of tempting aromas permeating the room. Rossi filled his plate at a more sedate pace, watching his co-worker for any signs of mental or emotional stress attributable to the uncommon workout his abilities had undergone.

"So…how you feelin', kid? You wanna do this again any time soon?"

Reid managed to answer around a mouthful of buttered toast. "I think so." He swallowed and continued with an eager note in his voice. "Rossi, it's weird. My brain feels kind of sore, but not in a bad way. It's like…" He searched for an appropriate metaphor. "It's like when you exercise muscles you don't ordinarily use. They're sore after, but you know it's good…that they're getting stronger." He spooned scrambled eggs onto his plate, shaking his head and smiling at an unexpected discovery with unknown potential. "It makes me want to do more. Right now, I feel kinda high…endorphins, maybe…but I really wanna know where this will lead…how far I can take it."

Rossi felt a chill at his young friend's enthusiasm. He finished his breakfast in thoughtful silence, wondering just how far ESP _could_ go. And was there a point at which a talent could become a weapon? Or a point where the talented became something so different, he could no longer be considered quite…human?

But then a paraphrase of J.J.'s words echoed in his mind. _This is __**our**__ monster. This is __**our**__ freak_. Rossi smiled to himself. He believed in the immutability of the soul. No matter where this journey led, he was certain Reid would always be the gentle, honorable man who inspired love and admiration far more often than he would ever know.

Rossi's smile widened. _Of course, if his abilities continue to grow, he might get a clue. Someday_._ And that might not be a bad thing_.

After Reid had made a respectable dent in the breakfast menu, the agents packed their go-bags and checked out. On the sidewalk, as a doorman hailed Rossi a cab, he gave Reid an appraising look.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Reid noted the concern in his friend's expression. "Why?"

"Yesterday was a very unusual day. With unusual results. I just want to be sure you're not feeling any aftereffects."

"I told you, Rossi. I feel great. Never better."

A cab pulled to the curb. Rossi paused, hand on the door. "Just promise me one thing, kid." Reid's eyebrows lifted. "Don't go anywhere near that clinic or Dr. Bescardi, okay? You're not to ever go there without me, or Hotch, or Morgan…That's a direct order. You understand me?"

Reid nodded, touched by the concern. "I promise. All I'm gonna do is hear a lecture and then catch the next flight home…But thanks,…_Dad_…" The accompanying mischievous grin earned him a parting slap from Rossi.

"Don't call me 'dad,'…_brat_."

As the cab pulled away, Reid took a deep, cleansing breath and squinted up at the blue, mid-morning sky. He hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and set off toward downtown. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling it was going to be a wonderful day.

He shrugged and shook his head at this inexplicable optimism. _Must be endorphins or something_. Glancing at the sky again, he smiled. The blue reminded him of Anastasia's eyes. He wondered where in the city she might be on such a beautiful day.


	24. Chance Encounter

Reid loved walking the streets of New York. He'd never had the opportunity to be a tourist. The few times the team had visited the Big Apple, there had been no occasion to explore anything other than crime scenes and locales related to a case. As close as it was to Quantico, Reid just hadn't managed to visit on his own time.

He enjoyed the feeling of anonymity he got from being part of the crowd. Somehow it gave him a sense of belonging. He felt the energy of the city pulsing up through the pavement and wondered if he should credit it to his new abilities, or if such a sensation was part of everyday life for native New Yorkers. Judging by the brisk pace and good-natured impatience surrounding him, the young doctor decided high energy was part of this city's lifestyle.

He had a few hours to spare before he needed to be at NYU in Washington Square for the lecture he wanted to attend. Time enough for some limited sightseeing. Reid had read numerous reviews, articles and maps concerning attractions the city offered. His eidetic memory retrieved every detail. He estimated how long it would take to walk to each and still make it to the presentation on theoretical physics. He preferred to be a pedestrian, but, if time became an issue, cabs were more readily available here than anywhere else he'd ever been. They outnumbered other vehicles three-to-one.

Reid chose the Mid-Manhattan branch of the New York Public Library for his first destination. As an avid reader since the age of two, libraries had been the prodigy's best friends for the greater part of his life. Visiting the iconic building with the famous stone lions flanking its broad stairs, was akin to a pilgrimage. Reid hurried. Although he wasn't pressed for time, once he had chosen, he couldn't wait to get there.

He walked with his head down for the last two blocks. He wanted his first impression to encompass the full impact of this impressive structure. He wanted to be standing directly in front of it for his first view. Reid wanted to be awed. He stared at the sidewalk until he estimated he had reached the midpoint of the library's massive staircase.

Reid took a deep breath and looked up. It was magnificent. Incredible. He took in the view in its entirety and let it wash over him. Then he focused on each feature separately. When he brought his attention to bear on the stone lion to the left, his jaw dropped. Reid had wanted to be awed. He was.

Anastasia sat on the ground, leaning back against a huge pair of stone paws. Even from a distance, her smile warmed him. Reid was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but gape. Once again, he heard Morgan's voice telling him to make a move…a smooth one. After a minute, when he still wasn't in command of his motor reflexes…_any_ move. _Don't stand here like an idiot…MOVE!_

It didn't matter. She came to him.

"H-how did you know…" His voice trailed off into stunned silence.

"…you'd be here?" She sounded a little amazed as well. "I didn't. I took a chance. A hunch."

The lecture on the theoretical physics model for the Schwarzchild wormhole wasn't as well attended as it might have been. Spencer Reid had found something more interesting to do with his time In New York.

"Anastasia." He said it as though he were savoring the taste.

"It's kind of a mouthful. You can call me 'Ana,'…if you want."

"Ana." He could still make it sound delectable.

"Were you headed somewhere?"

"Uh…no! No, I just wanted to…see…things…" He couldn't seem to make complete sentences anymore.

"Well, I have an appointment in a couple of hours, but…maybe we could get something to eat? Sit somewhere and talk?"

It took an effort for Reid to look away. Left to his own devices, he thought he might have spent the rest of the day staring down into that hypnotic blue gaze.

"Sure. Yeah." He scanned the street for any available eateries. "I don't really know my way around…"

"How 'bout the park? You like hot dogs?"

"Love them!" She could have asked him if he was partial to ground gravel with dandelion dressing for all he cared. He would have expressed the same enthusiasm if it would keep her by his side for a little while longer.

Street noise and the bustling crowds made it hard to talk. Conversation was minimal until they reached Central Park and had gone far enough into it to muffle New York's signature ambiance of traffic, sirens, and the roar of a population of millions.

Pushcart vendors abounded. Once they'd each procured a hot dog…hers with 'the works,' his with chili and mustard…the grass at the base of a maple tree served as a dining area.

Reid could eat heartily, but food frequently took a back seat to intellectual pursuits. As a child, he had needed to be reminded that the body required fuel, too. Too often, his mother hadn't been in a position to perform that duty. Now, in the presence of his new acquaintance, the young doctor fell into his old pattern. The hot dog remained uneaten as he engaged in the process of getting to know this girl. Ana's hot dog suffered the same fate. Cross-legged on the grass, they began with the basics.

"I don't even know your last name. I thought I'd never find you again."

"Ashcroft. My last name's Ashcroft." She couldn't stop smiling. "I told you I'd wait for you. I just didn't know where or when exactly. But I knew it would happen."

"So you were at the Center because…?"

"Because they were supposed to test me. But _someone_ more important got me bumped." She was teasing him. Reid liked being teased. The smile went beyond her lips. He watched it grow in her eyes. He could swear it even reached the ends of her hair and made them do that feathery, lifting thing. Or maybe it was the breeze. Didn't matter. It was the perfect thing for hair to do. He was getting distracted and reminded himself to learn more about her before their time was up. _Stick to the basics_.

He thought she was too familiar with the city to be just a visitor like him.

"Do you live here?"

"I do now, but…" A shadow crossed over her features. Reid felt it. It was so strong in his perceptions that he glanced at the sky to see if the sun had encountered a cloud. The sky was clear. It was the kind of shadow only someone like him would perceive. "…but I used to live on the west coast."

"Me, too. I'm from Las Vegas originally."

"That must've been fun. All the lights and glamor and stuff. I grew up in a really small town. So the first chance I got…" She raised both arms in a gesture that encompassed the entire city. "…I moved to a really _big_ town."

"So you have family back west?"

"Yeah." You didn't need ESP to see the shadow this time. And it wasn't like a cloud passing before the sun. It was like a total eclipse. Her smile vanished. Reid struggled to bring it back.

"I'm sorry! Did I say something? What's wrong?"

"It's not you. Everything's wrong, but it's not you." But she wouldn't meet his eyes and her own were brimming with tears. Reid could feel waves of dark sorrow flowing from her.

"Ana, please. Tell me. Maybe I can help."

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and did her best to approximate a smile. It was a brave effort, but failed to convince him.

"Please. Ana."

She nodded. With a deep, steadying breath, she regained control.

"It's just when you asked about family. I lost…someone."

"I'm sorry." Reid watched her disappear into some inner vision he couldn't share. He wanted to. "What happened?"

"My sister. My little sister. You wouldn't think things like that could happen where I come from. Small towns are supposed to be safe, you know?" He nodded, encouraging her to continue, his heart breaking for her…with her. She needed a minute and another deep breath before she could continue.

"She was murdered. And it was so horrible. And she must have been so scared." Unshed tears seemed to magnify her eyes, intensify their color. When she looked into his, Reid felt as though she'd somehow gained entrance to him. It wasn't intrusive. He didn't feel violated…rather, he felt quietly, pleasantly ransacked. As though she belonged there and was making herself at home.

"It was in the news. In a town no one's ever heard of. Needles, California. Some crazy, sick bastard killed a lot of girls. The last one he got…they almost saved her…but it was too late. My little sister. Sarah."

Tears fell. But they were Reid's, not Ana's.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk of the tree sheltering them.

_Oh, God. Sarah. The girl buried in the woods._

_I was too late._

_I was too late._

_I was a coward and I was too late._


	25. Promise Number 3

It had been a little over a week since Anastasia's younger sister, Sarah, had been murdered. Ana had gone home for the funeral service. Then she had fled back east, returning to the life she was making for herself in New York. It was too soon for her to speak of her sister without risking tears. But she didn't expect anyone other than immediate family to feel the same way.

Certainly not a strange man she'd only just met.

As she watched Spencer Reid cry, amazement supplanted some of her sorrow.

Ana had always been an excellent judge of character. When she was little, she would draw pictures of people. She didn't limit herself to physical appearance. Ana drew what she felt emanating from human hearts and souls. The disturbing results had made her teachers schedule several conferences with her parents. Twice, a child psychologist had been asked to see her.

In the end, Ana was given a clean bill of health, both mentally and emotionally.

In the end, Ana learned to hide what she felt. She tried to ignore it. Deny it. On her own, far from home, she felt she was moving closer to accepting it. Whatever 'it' was. She hoped the Paranormal Investigative Center would give 'it' a name, once they'd examined her.

But in Spencer Reid's case, she couldn't ignore what she'd felt.

When he had stumbled his way through their first awkward meeting at the Center, she had felt him from across the room. Intelligence. Curiosity. Sincerity. Loneliness. And above all…hope. He was someone who would live hopefully ever after. Always trying to fit in. Forever trying to find someone to devote himself to. More than anything, and most secret of all, Reid hoped for love. But he'd settle for acceptance. He'd given up on hoping for 'normal.'

Ana understood him within seconds.

She'd felt a sudden FLASH behind her eyes. She'd seen him standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the mid-Manhattan library. By the time she left the building housing the Center, Ana knew she would spend every spare minute she had in the company of the library's stone lions, until Spencer showed up.

And now he was crying. She didn't understand. She felt sorrow pouring off of him, which might be explained as sympathy for her loss. But the guilt was inexplicable. And much worse. It didn't pour off and drain away. It enveloped and clung to him. Ana had learned to know when an emotion she felt in another person was temporary. Anger, fear and hate were often especially fierce, but she could sense something qualitative in them that marked them as transitory. Then there was the other kind. The kind that stuck to a person and left them with scars and deep, psychic injuries.

That's what Spencer's guilt felt like.

Ana didn't understand. But she wanted to. She moved closer to him.

Passersby shot them the occasional, curious glance, but this was New York. No one interfered in whatever drama was unfolding between the young couple under the tree.

Ana sat on the ground, her legs folded beneath her. She was as close as she could get to Spencer without actually touching him. They had met too recently for her to be comfortable taking any personal liberties involving physical contact. So she did the next best thing. Privately, Ana called it 'putting out the antennae.' Publicly, she'd stopped talking about it in grade school after all the fuss with the child psychologists. She might not have, but she'd seen the worried looks her parents gave her. When they turned the same anxious regard on little sister Sarah, wondering if she would follow in Ana's footsteps, Ana had decided it would be best for everyone if she played the 'don't say anything; pretend you're normal' game. That was something her grandmother had bequeathed her before she'd passed away. Advice from the deathbed of a woman she'd hardly known. At the time, Ana hadn't given it much thought. In the years since, she'd come to consider it something of a survival guide.

As close to Spencer as she could get, Ana calmed her own sorrowful memories of Sarah. She imagined tendrils unfurling from the place between her eyes that always felt a little warm. In her studies, she'd learned that spot was referred to as 'the third eye' in certain spiritual traditions. She let them extend and imagined them falling in delicate, gentle patterns over Spencer.

She could access _what_ he was feeling, but not the 'why' of it. She'd have to try something else.

"Spencer? Spencer…" He slitted his eyes open, giving her a sidelong look of pure misery. "Spencer…thank you." She hit him with the unexpected. He blinked several times and brought her into sharper focus.

"F-for what?"

"For your tears. They're for Sarah, aren't they?" He nodded, looking away from her.

"Don't thank me. You don't understand."

"But I want to. Please tell me." Ana didn't think it was the right time to let Spencer know that if he didn't tell _someone_, the envelope of guilt would thicken, and strengthen, and in the end would seal him within it irrevocably. She'd seen it happen to others. It was a terrible waste of a life when it did.

He closed his eyes again. "I don't know how."

He hadn't refused. Ana saw that as a hopeful sign. "It's very simple. You start at the beginning, wherever or whenever that is. Then you go to the end. Then you stop." She didn't feel any mirth, but gave him a tremulous smile anyway.

Spencer looked at her for several heartbeats. "What if it's really bad? What if it makes you hate me?"

Ana's smile faded. She felt fear rolling off of him. Her hate was a very real possibility in his mind. It was her turn to close her eyes. She let the tendrils of her other 'sight' replace natural vision. _No, he's wrong. There's nothing…hate-able…in him. Not for me anyway_.

When she looked at him again, he was still watching her. Waiting for a verdict of some sort. She gave it to him.

"I promise, Spencer Reid, with all that I am, that I won't hate you. I should tell you; I don't make promises lightly. I've only made two in my entire life…adult life, anyway. First, I promised my parents I'd take care of myself in this city. I would be smart and stay safe and do my best at whatever I chose. Second, I promised my mother that, whatever else I do, I'd try to be happy. Because she said that's really the only thing she wishes for her children…child, now. I'm the only one left." Ana's voice tightened as it stumbled over the realization.

"Maybe I shouldn't say it yet, but I have a feeling that if you don't get past whatever's blocking you right now, if you don't let me in, I might be breaking that second promise. The one about trying to be happy. I keep seeing…flashes of things. And you're there. And I'm happy. So, I'll give you my third-ever promise, Spencer. And if you don't take it, you might also be part of breaking promise number two." She took a deep breath and looked into his eyes as steadily as she could. "I promise, I will not hate you. Ever. Now, talk to me. Help me keep promise number two."

Reid felt the world around them recede. There were only the two of them and the terrible story he kept inside.

"I work for the FBI, Ana." Her eyes widened. "I was there in Needles. I was there in the woods. I found your sister. Too late. She might be alive if I hadn't been scared to…uh…_do_…what I needed to find her."

He watched her go blank. Her gaze transferred to the ground. All Reid's fears and worst imaginings started to brew and bubble up from the darkest corners of his soul. Ana's voice, when it came, was distant.

"You were there…"

"Yes."

Then she did what Reid would never have dared wish for. Even at his most hopeful. Even if the circumstances hadn't been so terrible. She moved closer. She nestled in beside him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she sighed and rested against him.

"You better tell me everything."

So he did.


	26. Couple in Progress

Reid didn't tell Ana everything.

He left out the odor of sweat and fear and human effluvia that had gusted out of the crate containing Sarah when they'd ripped it open. He left out the lurid bruising and cuts on her body that spoke of the mortal struggle she'd waged…and lost…against her attacker. He left out the details of the bodily fluids the murderer, Arthur Brandenhoff, had sent down the air tubes to his victims.

Such details were in the autopsy and police reports. Relatives of victims rarely asked to read the full account. And they were never offered the opportunity. If Ana's parents had asked, they would have been given full disclosure of their youngest daughter's captivity and death. But Reid felt, if they had, it was up to them whether or not they shared the information with Ana. He wasn't about to subject her to that. He lived with it daily. It was part of his job. But he wouldn't pass it on willingly.

What he did tell her was scary enough. At least, Reid thought so.

He told about slipping and letting his boss know there was something even stranger than an eidetic memory residing in his brain. He told about his first visit to see Dr. Bescardi and how Hotch had helped him ease the team into learning about his new abilities. He even told her about losing himself in a killer's mind and about Hotch's ill-advised bravery in retrieving him. And he spoke of Sarah and how they'd found her at the end of a wild dash through an unknown town and a trackless wilderness.

When Reid was done. His tears had stopped, leaving only dull, salty tracks on his hollow cheeks. Ana had stayed by his side the entire time, both of them gazing out over the park vista before them, but not really seeing their surroundings. He appreciated that she hadn't insisted on looking into his eyes while he told her sister's story. If she'd been judging him, he would have seen it. But she rendered her presence unthreatening simply by avoiding eye contact and letting the warmth of her nearness seep into him.

It was comforting. Reid would have been happy if it never ended.

Of course, it did end. After he fell silent, Ana stirred and sat up.

"I don't understand, Spencer."

"What?" He couldn't think of anything that would make his story clearer. More horribly visceral, yes. Clearer, no.

"Where does the guilt come in?"

He was baffled. "What…I didn't…what…what guilt?"

"It's all over you. It's covering you and…_muffling_ you. It's _everywhere_."

It was Reid's turn to stare and to say that _he_ didn't understand. And it was Ana's turn to tell her story. Reid learned about a childhood of loneliness and wondering if you hid your talents whether or not you'd have friends and dates and dances. He heard his own story, but from a feminine point of view. He also realized that Ana was 'gifted' in a similar way. _Same, but different_. Except, she'd had her 'gift' from birth; had grown up with it…grown into it. His had been a sudden deluge of strangeness in an already odd life.

When it came to empathic abilities, Ana was the stronger. Reid had needed to touch Hotch to feel the full extent of the man's pain and sorrow. Ana knew people's feelings just by looking. It was a little daunting for her to tell Reid about his sense of guilt. The team had tried to talk him out of it, so he thought he'd buried it deeply enough to be able to fool them. And if he could hide it from a group whose profession was deciphering such secrets, it should be virtually invisible to the rest of the world. But Ana 'saw' it as though he were carrying a sign proclaiming culpability.

"It's not your fault, Spencer." She didn't sob or weep uncontrollably. What tears Ana shed when speaking of her sister were quiet; like punctuation in a powerful language whose sole purpose was the communication of grief. Reid supposed she had worn herself out with crying already.

"But if I'd been just a little faster, a little less…scared…to look into her killer's mind, you might still have her."

"And if she hadn't gone to the mall, or parked where she did, or gotten out of bed that morning, or…done anything differently at any time…things might have been different."

The young agent shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, but a few minutes might have made all the difference. That means I was the one who let her slip away." The defeat and self-loathing Ana saw on his face alarmed as well as angered her. She moved from his side to an angle where he was forced to confront her directly.

"Do you want to know what you _really_ did? _Really_?" Ana could see the conflict: he was afraid of blame, but confirmation of it would somehow free him to let himself be devoured by it. She saw he was tired of so many things. The struggle to hide his strangeness as well as his guilty conscience. The struggle to function in a world where he found so little support. Mostly, Reid was tired of wanting things he believed he would never have. It was all lumped together in a roiling mass. Ana saw a Medusa-like ball of writhing strands that desperately needed untangling. She faced him squarely.

"Let me tell you _exactly_ what you did, Spencer Reid." His eyes were dark, waiting for another episode of condemnation and desertion to add to his lifetime tally. Waiting for her to destroy him.

"You found her. You gave my mom and dad and the rest of our family a last moment. Mom told me. She said, as bad as it was to lose Sarah, as painful as that will always be, she was just so _grateful_ to, and I quote, 'the young man they said found her against all odds.' Now that I know how it was for you…how new you are to using your mind that way…I can't wait to tell my family that I met you. I met the one who risked everything to give us the gift of 'goodbye.'" Ana released Reid from her gaze and settled back, leaning against him once more. "That is no small thing. Don't you dare discredit it."

It was what Rossi had said. For a moment, Reid wondered if Ana had somehow taken the words from his own thoughts…his memories of the moment J.J. announced Sarah's death…,but the power and conviction behind Ana's speech marked it as original material. As something born deep within her heart.

And when she slipped her hand into his, there was no room for doubt.

Reid gasped. He rarely touched or was touched by anyone. This was so different from anything he'd experienced. Touching Hotch and Sarah's murderer had been uncomfortable in very different ways. This was…indescribable. But, being Reid, he had to try to quantify and label new discoveries.

_It's a thousand incredibly intricate puzzle pieces slipping into place simultaneously. It's a flash of brilliance that blinds, but leaves greater vision when it passes. It's…completion_.

He turned his head and looked down at the girl beside him. She tilted hers up and gave him a sly, sidelong glance. Her Mona Lisa smile was back.

"I know," she said.

As Ana watched, the tangled mass of Reid's insecurities and needs and misconceptions…unraveled just a little. She sighed. It was a start. The rest would take time. When he squeezed her hand, she knew he was feeling it, too. It was the beginning of a process.

So two of the most unique people Central Park would ever host, sat beneath their tree, holding hands, learning each other in a most unusual way.

_Osmosis_, thought Reid.

_Nice_, thought Ana.

From a bench not far away, an elderly couple had been watching the discussion and drama enacted by the young man and woman beneath the tree. When Reid and Ana finally fell silent, hand in hand, the old woman smiled at her husband of sixty years.

"Remember when that was us?"

"Like yesterday."

"I wonder if they'll stay together."

The man sighed and turned his face to the warmth of the sun. "They're happy now. That's all that matters."

His wife watched the young couple a while longer. She closed her eyes and joined her husband in basking in the beautiful day. _He's right. They're happy now. And 'now' is all any of us has_.


	27. Unexpected Opportunities

Reid would always think of that tree in Central Park as his and Ana's.

He would have been content to stay beneath it, watching the world darken and stars appear. But both of them had commitments. He had to return to Quantico. She had mentioned an appointment later in the day. They'd been holding hands, blocking out all distraction, concentrating on the complex feeling of completion. But when Reid opened his eyes and saw an elderly couple not far away collecting themselves and the remains of their lunch, he realized it was time for them to leave, too.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Ana opened her eyes. Glancing at her watch, she smiled up at him.

"I need to go."

"I wish you didn't." Reid struggled to his feet, pulling her up with him. He was reluctant to release her hand.

"Well, it's your fault in a way." She had an almost-laugh that made her words jump and ripple. He loved the sound and rhythm of it…like words taking flight. Verbal starlings that swept and swooped and darted. He wanted them to nest in his very soul.

"My fault?"

"Uh-huh. If the great Dr. Reid hadn't taken my appointment at the Paranormal Investigative Center yesterday, _I _wouldn't have had to reschedule. _I_ wouldn't have to go back today." The way Ana wrinkled her nose took any real criticism out of the words.

"That's where you're headed?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll walk you." He thought it would give him time to formulate a warning, a way to define the danger he felt radiating from Dr. Bescardi.

Once they left the park, the noise and frantic life crisscrossing and streaming through New York's streets prevented Reid from making as strong an impression on Ana as he'd wanted when it came to his wariness about Bescardi.

"Be careful, Ana." He draped a protective arm across her shoulders and wished he could cloak her in safety no matter where she went or who she encountered.

"I'll be fine. If I think she's getting _too_ interested in me…I'll just play dumb. You know… _normal_."

Remembering the barrage of rapid-fire tests that he had undergone, Reid wasn't so sure. He'd had no idea how to fake answers. And, from what he'd been told, his brain had acted almost independently of his conscious desires. He'd been revealed. He had no doubt that Bescardi's tactics would discover the reality of Ana as well.

They were at the entrance. Together they looked at the obscure engraving on the brass plaque adorning the doorway. "Choose to lift up your eyes, from the hills to the skies."

"What'd you think it means?" Reid had meant to ask during his last visit, but Bescardi's single-minded ferocity about accomplishing as much as possible, as quickly as possible, had rendered the question untimely.

Ana brushed a finger across the motto. "Isn't it obvious?" Reid smiled and shook his head, waiting for her to enlighten him. "It means to forsake the mundane. Instead of looking into the common distance, to look into the impossibly far, incomprehensible reaches that are beyond human grasp. _Normal_ humans, anyway."

Reid blinked. "Wow. I didn't get that at all."

"Well, what _did_ you get?"

"That a scary lady who says weird things lives on the other side of this door."

Ana punched his shoulder. "I get it, Spencer. I'll be careful."

"Will you call me as soon as you're done?"

She pulled out her phone. "Give me your number. I'll program it in as we speak."

Reid brought out his cell, adding her contact information as well. When they were done, they faced each other. All levity, all teasing, had vanished. Reid wanted to accompany her into the lair of the paranormal dragon-lady. But he'd promised Rossi. Reid never broke promises. He took them as seriously as Ana did. _Ana, who's only made three promises that count in her entire life. And one was to me_. His brief smile at the thought of his exclusivity faded when she reached for the door.

He placed his hand over hers. "Ana, I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. Stop worrying." But she could 'see' that he was adding more tangled threads to the already considerably knotted composition that was his psyche.

"Spencer, everything'll be fine. I'll call you in a few hours." He still looked unhappy. She really didn't want to leave him like that. "Maybe next time I can visit you in Virginia." _That_ did it. A grin lit up his face. Ana stored away the image of Reid's smile, gave him one of her own and passed through the doorway of the Center.

Eleven floors up, from the window of her private office, Dr. Carol Bescardi watched the young couple walking down the street. _Just another somewhat scruffy, jean-clad, long-haired duo._ She mused about the differences in grooming standards between generations. At their age, she would never have set foot in public looking anything less than her best. She still wouldn't.

She didn't really pay attention to anything other than their attire until they stopped in front of her building. Squinting, she moved closer to the glass pane. _Spencer Reid?_ She wasn't sure. But when they parted, the man hitched his bag higher on his shoulder and shoved his hands in his pockets before wandering off down the block. Bescardi knew the posture, the body language. She'd observed every detail of her prize specimen while she had him.

Her heart leapt with the hope of catching him. She was halfway down the hall, headed for the exit and the bank of elevators before better judgment prevailed. _I can't run down the street after him…not after the way Dave treated me like a greedy child in a candy shop where my work is concerned…where __**he**__ is concerned._

The doctor paused, fingers wrapped around the door handle to the waiting room. She could hear the faint thrumming of an elevator. _All I need is a few more hours with that boy. You'd think __**he**__, of all people would understand the importance of research._ The elevator stopped. _What if something happens to him? He works for the FBI, for God's sake!_ The waiting room door opened. Footsteps crossed to the reception desk. _Someone with that much potential to further science should be kept somewhere safe. Someone with that much to offer should realize his duty to submit himself to the acquisition of knowledge._ Bescardi could see a tiny portion of the lobby through the receptionist's window.

Her inner dialogue stopped. It was the scruffy girl from the street. The one Dr. Reid had escorted to the building's door.

"Hi. I'm Anastasia Ashcroft. I have a 3:30 appointment?"

The rest of the conversation was lost to Dr. Bescardi. She retreated to her private office. She needed a moment to consider the opportunity that had just dropped into her lap.


	28. Home Again

"So…Anastasia, is it?" Dr. Bescardi made a show of checking the name at the top of the personal information form her new patient had filled out. "An unusual name. Not one you see often."

"You can call me Ana, if you want." Ana was beginning to understand Reid's concern. She could feel _very_ unpleasant emanations coming from the good doctor. She thought about how she would describe it to Spencer when she called him later that evening. _Like quivering jelly composed of sweaty eagerness and anxiety. She wants him so much. And she's afraid of scaring me off. She wants me to like her. To stay_.

The only conclusion Ana could make was that somehow Dr. Bescardi either knew about the growing relationship between her and Spencer, or hoped to foster one. Either way, Ana didn't like the desperation underlying Bescardi's studied, casual façade. Desperate people frequently did the most unsavory things. As the conversation continued and Ana described her childhood, she felt the urge to run her hands down the length of her own arms. Bescardi's greed was so strong, Ana could swear it was leaping the distance between them and leaving a slimy film wherever her skin was exposed.

"So even as a child you could…sense?...what others were feeling? Or could you tell what they were _thinking_?" Bescardi leaned forward, adopting the stance of a benevolent benefactor whose sole wish was to guide her less-informed subject through the maze of paranormal proclivities. She hoped to give the girl the impression that she'd be hopelessly lost unless someone as wise and experienced as Bescardi helped her. "Think carefully, Ana. There's a great difference between one's feelings and one's thoughts. It's an entirely different talent, you know."

Ana hid her disgust at being patronized by ducking her head, taking refuge behind the shield of her hair for a moment. She really _did_ want to be tested. And there weren't many places that could provide that service. Regaining her equanimity, Ana decided to hurry this interview along. She felt there was something to be gained in the clinic, but it didn't include being treated like an imbecile by an examiner who clearly possessed no psychic gifts whatsoever._ If she did, she'd realize how counterproductive her methods are_.

"Dr. Bescardi?" Ana looked up and kept her tone ingratiating…sweet, even.

"Yes, dear?"

_She really is overdoing the maternal bit_. "I'm no expert, of course, but maybe your tests would provide better answers than my trying to dredge up childhood memories?" Ana gave a tremulous smile, playing to the doctor's sense of superiority.

Carol Bescardi sat back and considered her subject.

The girl was smart. No doubt about that. Bescardi couldn't imagine an intellect like Dr. Reid's being attracted to anything less. She didn't think the girl was telepathic, but there was a good chance she was an empath. Bescardi sighed. She didn't care much for empaths. Soft, sentimental creatures who were easily distracted from any worthy goal by their concern for others' feelings. Weaklings. And Empaths were hard to pin down. So much of what they gleaned with their special abilities could also be accomplished by someone who was adept at interpreting body language and the nuances of speech. _Somewhat like the profiling engaged in by Dr. Reid's department of the FBI. _But if Spencer Reid had forged a connection with this subject, she could be useful.

_The trick is to establish rapport and use lesser specimen number 2 to ensnare greater specimen number 1._ Bescardi immediately reminded herself to watch her thoughts. Until she was positive specimen number 2…_Ana_, she forced herself to acknowledge the name…lacked telepathic abilities, she'd do well to conceal her zeal. And the sooner they tested this subject…_Ana!_...the better Bescardi would know how to use her.

The doctor stretched her thickly glossed lips in a smile. "You're right, of course." She stood and gestured, arm extended, inviting Ana to accompany her to the lab where a barrage of exams waited to define just what kind of mind this specimen…_Ana!_...possessed.

The last time Reid had flown from New York to Quantico, he'd been depressed, scared, and ready to run and hide for the rest of his life. If Hotch hadn't met him, easing his fears and sense of freakishness by laying out a battle plan for integrating him back into the team, Reid couldn't imagine where he'd be.

This time, everything was different.

Reid exited the plane with a smile, with energy and hope that he knew were directly connected to Anastasia Kassandra-with-a-K Ashcroft. He didn't want to go home. He felt too ebullient, too…_happy_…to call it a day. He decided to drop by the BAU. Odds were most of the team would still be there, either engaged in the never-ending paperwork, or providing consulting services to local law enforcement agencies across the nation; an activity that generated even more reams of paperwork.

When Rossi had shown up earlier in the day without Reid, everyone except Hotch, who'd given permission for the young doctor to extend his New York sojourn by a few hours, was curious about his absence.

"He'll be back later. There was some lecture thing he wanted to hear."

Morgan had shaken his head, once again unable to share the interests his friend had. "I dunno, Rossi. If I had an afternoon off in a city like New York, I could think of a hundred better things to do with my time."

"Yeeeeaaahhh." Prentiss' drawl usually presaged all too accurate observations. "It _is_ the 'city that never sleeps.' Probably all kinds of 24-hour bars and strip clubs, right, Morgan?"

"You know it." He gave his partner a lascivious grin that underlined his complete lack of shame for his favorite pursuit. "At least I'd come back with a bounce in my step and a smile on my face."

"Not to mention hung-over." Prentiss turned back to her work. As much as she teased Morgan, her tastes ran along similar lines. She couldn't imagine herself devoting precious free time to higher learning. Not unless it was in the company of an extremely attractive, ripped male.

So when Reid arrived several hours later, beaming, Morgan was sure he hadn't spent the day in a stuffy lecture hall.

He crafted a plan to discover Reid's true activities carefully, with subtle wordplay.

"Yo! Pretty Boy! There's no lecture in the world that can make a man smile like that. C'mon…what's her name?"

And for the first time in years of teasing suffered at the hands of his colleague, Reid enjoyed delivering an answer that produced a very satisfying look of shock on Morgan's face and rendered the rest of the team silent.

"Her name is Anastasia. But when you meet her, you can call her 'Ana.'"

The silence didn't last for long. Morgan's expression shifted from disbelief to delight.

"Seriously? You met a girl?"

"Seriously. I met a girl." Reid took a seat at his desk and pretended to bury himself in the contents of his in-box.

Further inquiries were discouraged with an uncontainable grin and comments like "Don't you have work to do?" and "I'll talk about her when I'm ready," or the ever-popular "Please, Morgan, I'm busy."

Rossi, Hotch and J.J. watched from the catwalk as Reid tormented his teammate.

"I wonder who she is." J.J. had shared Morgan's concern that Reid might never find a suitable companion.

"We could always call him up here. Make it a direct order to tell." Hotch wore one of his very rare half-smiles.

"Nah." Rossi folded his arms and settled himself to watch the comedy-drama in the bullpen. "This is too much fun. Five bucks says Reid goes home without telling Morgan anything more. Any takers?"

The other two shook their heads. It never paid to bet on human behavior when a profiler was laying the odds.


	29. Bait

Dr. Bescardi looked at Ana's test results and allowed herself a sly smile. The girl wasn't as amazing a find as Dr. Reid, but she was talented enough to make studying her worthwhile. _So if I can't get Reid to see reason, at least I won't come out of this empty-handed_. But the thought was fleeting. Carol Bescardi's mind had a natural tendency to leap to the highest rung on whichever ladder she was contemplating at the moment. Once a goal was conceived, her desires usually followed at lightning speed.

_What if I could get __**both**__ of them?_ As soon it occurred to her, she knew she'd settle for nothing less.

Ana had returned to the lobby, pending interpretation of her tests. When Bescardi called her to come back into the examination room, she could tell the doctor didn't plan on being completely open and honest. To Ana's eyes, Bescardi looked as though she'd been dipped in a glaze coating. That generally meant that half-truths mixed with a liberal dose of half-lies and slanted perspectives would be the order of the day.

Ana sighed. She had hoped to be honestly evaluated so she could walk away once and for all, with no intention of returning. She knew that was what Spencer was hoping for her, too. Ana's sigh conveyed discouragement. Bescardi reacted to it.

"Tired...Ana?"

"A little, but we're almost done, right?"

"Well, I suppose. If you want to leave without a _complete_ assessment of your talent."

Ana recognized the bait, but didn't see the harm in simulating interest. "I thought I _was_ receiving a comprehensive assessment. I'm not?"

Bescardi went into full performance mode. "Well, I do my best, but…it's this city, you know? As sensitive as a true ESP-er is, being in the midst of all this noise, and humanity, and unbridled emotion…well, even if the subject isn't aware of it, it can make a _tremendous_ difference in performance and, hence, outcome. You understand, don't you?"

_Yeah, right_. Ana let the wry comment die unspoken. "I guess." She shrugged. "But the city's not going to 'keep it down' for you, so there's not much you can do short of relocating."

Bescardi perked up, visibly brightening as Ana provided just the lead-in she'd been hoping for. "Funny you should mention it. I've been toying with the idea of hosting a _retreat_ of sorts. Specifically for gifted people such as yourself."

Ana felt a shiver of anxiety. It was part recognition of a trap, and part reaction to the desperate hope pouring off of the doctor that said trap was baited correctly. She kept her voice level. "Sounds…interesting."

"Oh, it will be. And _such_ an opportunity for people like you! Imagine a peaceful, country setting far from all the distractions and intrusions that keep you from realizing your full potential. And you'd meet other sensitives. Think how exciting that could be!" Bescardi's enthusiasm was verging on fanatic. Ana didn't want to think what the reaction would be if her response was a flat refusal.

"So…when are you planning to do this?"

"I haven't nailed down the details yet, but I'm thinking it'll be soon." Bescardi recalled the conditions of Dr. Reid's agreement to be examined. "Certainly within the next couple of months. In that interval, if you come across someone…special…who you think might appreciate the opportunity I'm providing, please invite them, won't you?"

"Sure." _She wants me to pressure Spencer into coming_. Ana shivered. It was the sensation her mother called 'a cat walking on your grave.' For the rest of their session, Ana couldn't look at Dr. Bescardi without thinking of a cat, it's paws coated with cemetery dust, watching…waiting…for a chance to walk through human souls.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was thoroughly enjoying himself. Morgan was relentless. The young doctor was impervious. When the two collided, the entertainment factor in the BAU bullpen skyrocketed. The day was coming to an end when Reid's phone buzzed for attention. He smiled at the caller ID photo he'd taken on the sidewalk in New York. He made sure Morgan heard him answer before moving off toward a more private corner.

"Ana! How'd it go?"

Morgan knew when he was being taunted. But he also knew when to let go. Although he was burning with curiosity about the kind of woman Reid would allow into his world, he didn't want to jeopardize a budding relationship. Whether it was friendship or romance, Morgan knew subjecting it to too close scrutiny was off-limits. At least for the moment. But he kept a close eye on the conversation.

Reid turned his back on the bullpen and gave his undivided attention to the call he'd been anticipating for hours.

"Is everything okay? Are you out of there?" He could hear street noise in the background and Ana's voice, when she answered, was raised to compensate for it, but he still wanted to hear her say she was free of Dr. Bescardi's clutches.

"I'm fine. I'm on my way home. Just wanted to talk to you. That's okay, isn't it? Is this a bad time?"

"I don't think it'll ever be a bad time when you call."

"Wow. Thanks, Spencer."

The blissful look that transformed Reid's face told the roomful of profilers more than words ever could.

"So what did Bescardi say about you?" Reid could feel the others observing him, but it was friendly interest, concerned curiosity. He was sure Ana had been subjected to something much less pleasant in the clinic.

"She says I'm an empath, which I pretty much figured out myself when I was about seven. The rest, she says needs more study. A different kind of study."

Reid's alert switch tripped to the 'on' position. "I don't like the sound of that. How 'different'?"

"Well…you'll _love_ this…" The sarcasm in Ana's tone belied her words. "…she wants to schedule a retreat of sorts. For us. For people like us."

Reid was facing a corner wall, cutting out distraction, concentrating on every nuance and pause. "Ana, please tell me you're not even _vaguely_ entertaining the idea of going somewhere remote with that woman. Please."

"Spencer, hear me out. You know I'm not stupid. Like anything, there are pluses and minuses to this. Just listen, okay?"

Reid huffed out a small, exasperated breath, but kept still and listened with every sense at his command. "What'd she say to you?"

"First, I don't trust her any more than you do. But if we're together, what's she gonna do? Overpower us? Dr. Bescardi isn't the type to get her hands dirty or her makeup smeared, right?" Ana took silence as affirmation. "Second, she has a point. Remember how it felt when we left the street and went into the park? It was like, the further in we got, the easier it was to…_see_…you. To…_hear_…you. Remember?"

"I remember." Reid thought he would never forget. It had been one of the finest moments of his life.

"So Bescardi says that if we're out of the city entirely, it'll make a big difference in how we sense things." Ana could feel the reluctance streaming across the airwaves. "Spencer, when you found…" She swallowed and put effort into keeping her voice steady. "…my sister…Sarah…you were in a small town, and then in the woods. I bet that made a difference. There wasn't any city noise, any deluge of human emotion, interfering with you." Her voice grew smaller, sadder. "I want to know if it really mattered. I want to know all I can about…that…about S-Sarah."

Reid leaned his forehead against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away Ana's pain.

The observers in the bullpen saw the change in their friend's demeanor. Worry began to supplant cheerful curiosity. Rossi frowned. He'd been watching the banter and teasing from the vantage of his elevated office. Now he saw the change in Reid's body language and expression. He stepped out onto the catwalk for a closer look, leaning against the railing.

"I understand, Ana. But…"

"And just one more thing, Spencer. You told me you owed Bescardi a total of three sessions, no more than eight hours each, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, a retreat like this would count for more than that. You'd be done. You'd never have to see her again unless you wanted to."

Silence stretched between them.

Reid wanted to give Ana whatever she asked for. And he understood about her wanting to know more concerning her sister and his part in finding her. And he had enjoyed stretching his abilities. He'd told Rossi that he might even be looking forward to his next appointment at the clinic. But this wouldn't be at the clinic. And he didn't trust Bescardi.

"Let me think about it, okay?" He looked around and saw Rossi watching, looking down at him with worry lines etched across his brow.

"Okay."

"I'm not saying 'no', but…"

"I understand. And Spencer?"

"Yeah?"

"I promise I won't go without you. _Promise_…get it?"

That put the smile back on his face. "Like you promised to never hate me?"

"Exactly."

"So you won't hate me if I don't go along with this?"

"I won't hate you. Just the opposite."

"Really?"

"Really. _Promise_."

There wasn't anything left to say that could make a better ending, so Reid whispered "Me, too," and hung up. But his smile vanished when he looked back up at the catwalk.

It was time to talk with Rossi.


	30. Bait Taken

Ana pocketed her phone and caught her reflection in one of the street-front windows. She was smiling and it felt strange. Her sister had died such a short time ago. Ana had thought she'd never have a reason to feel happy again; not when Sarah's death had demonstrated so forcefully the ugliness and undeserved cruelty of the world. But an afternoon in Central Park with an almost-stranger had changed everything. She was still mourning, but now she could admit that the ugly, cruel world that took Sarah away, could also be a hopeful, beautiful place. It didn't make sense and it wasn't fair. It just _was_.

Ana decided to treat herself to something nice for dinner. She was starving. Her smile widened. She and Spencer had been so wrapped up in meeting each other, they'd completely forgotten to eat their pushcart hot dogs. She hoped some other creature had enjoyed finding a surprise meal nestled in the grass beneath their tree.

She headed home, thinking of purchasing a bottle of wine to accompany the pasta dinner she'd make in her tiny, utilitarian kitchen. _This has really been the most remarkable day_. She moved with light, buoyant steps, weaving through the sidewalk crowds and thinking of Spencer.

XXXXXXXX

In Quantico, Reid's steps were anything _but_ buoyant. He dragged his feet as he plodded up the catwalk stairs toward a concerned-looking Rossi. A bullpen of equally anxious agents tracked his progress.

Once they were face to face, Rossi took the lead.

"Was that the girl?" He raised his eyebrows, referencing Reid's call.

"Yeah. Anastasia. Ana. Her name's Ana."

"And you're looking a little down because…?"

"Because I think Bescardi's using her to get at me." Reid bit his lip, glanced down into the bullpen where most eyes were still trained on him. "And there's some other stuff I should probably tell you."

"Like?"

"Like she's the sister of the girl I found in the woods. In Needles. Sarah. The girl I was too late to save."

Rossi's face gave nothing away. He looked blank; void of reaction. He stepped over to the window of Hotch's office and rapped on the glass. When the Unit Chief looked up, Rossi crooked a finger at him and tilted his head toward his own office. Hotch nodded. Rossi took Reid's elbow and was about to steer him through the door when Prentiss, called out to him.

"Hey, Rossi! C'mon! We're a team. All that stuff about 'no secrets', remember?"

Rossi gave her a sidelong look. "All in good time, Emily. Let's sort things out on a need-to-know basis first." He pushed the younger man into his office. "I'm sure Reid wants at least a chance to have a private life, okay?"

Prentiss settled back in her chair, grumbling at Morgan. "Not fair. The guy can practically read _our_ minds and we don't even get a clue about the first juicy maybe-romance-thing that happens to him. Not fair."

J.J. sighed as Hotch entered Rossi's office, closing the door behind him with a definitive _click_. "We could try to read their lips. If someone would ever remember to bring in some binoculars, or opera glasses…telescope…spyglass…something along those lines." Her eyes widened for a brief moment as Hotch turned, gave one of his piercing stares and closed the window blinds.

Prentiss looked around at her co-workers. "Did he just, ya know, _hear_ what you were saying, J.J.? Like the way _Reid_ hears stuff?"

"I don't know. No. No way. No. Uh-uh. That would just be too creepy."

"You guys are getting all weirded-out for nothing." Morgan's faint tone of derision helped ground them. "Hotch is a profiler. If you looked out and saw all of us staring at you, wouldn't you close your blinds, too?"

"Yeah."

"Guess so."

"Okay then." He turned back to the report he'd been writing. "Nothin' left to see here, ladies. Move along." Morgan didn't think it would help anything to say that Hotch hadn't looked at them as a group. His eyes had shot directly to J.J….the one who'd been speaking about spying in a voice too low for the Unit Chief, or anyone more than two feet away, to hear.

Not for the first time, he wondered about the aftereffects of Reid taking a walk through Hotch's mind. Although he had to admit, watching Strauss run for cover after their leader vomited on her was worth a lot. Still… Morgan looked up at Rossi's office window and wondered if, on the other side, Hotch might be looking back.

XXXXXXXXX

"What's going on?" Hotch turned from pulling the blinds closed.

Rossi had ensconced himself behind his desk in his custom-made, leather swivel-throne. Reid occupied one of the lesser chairs kept for visitors and those about to be skewered for minor offenses that didn't warrant full Hotch-intervention.

"Our young friend here has something to tell you."

Reid saw only warmth and concern in his boss' eyes. "I met a girl yesterday."

"Yeah. We gathered that."

"She's…special." Reid proceeded to tell his two superiors just _how_ special.

By the time the whole tale had been told, Hotch had taken a seat and the level of concern in his expression had at least tripled. Rossi stroked his beard and assessed his colleague through half-lidded eyes.

"So I'm getting mixed signals here, Reid. You _want_ to go to this…retreat…, right?" Reid nodded. "But you don't trust Carol Bescardi?" Another nod. Rossi leaned back into the button-tufted leather backrest. "What do you think, Hotch?" The Unit Chief was staring, reading every flicker and nuance he could glean from his youngest agent.

The answer didn't come immediately. When it did, it wasn't what Rossi had expected.

"I think sometimes we have to take a chance. Sometimes the stakes demand it."

It was Rossi's turn to stare. "Are you serious? After all the conditions _you_ placed on his contact with Bescardi and her clinic? Really, Aaron?"

Hotch didn't know how to explain to Rossi. In truth, he didn't _want_ to explain. In the back of his mind he could hear the echo of his ex-wife's last words, right before she was murdered, while he listened on the other end of a phone call. Those words were scorched across his brain. She had made him promise to teach their son about love. She had said that love "is the most important thing." Somehow, looking at Reid, Hotch knew that love, or at least its possibility, had become a factor in the young doctor's life.

The eye contact between the other two was beginning to concern Rossi. Like Morgan, he wondered if there was some lingering connection between them. And if it was affecting their leader's ability to make clear, level-headed decisions.

"Aaron? Aaron!"

Hotch came out of his reverie and looked up. "I think if Reid _doesn't_ do this, he'll wonder for the rest of his life if he should have. And where else is he supposed to go to learn about himself…his potential?" _And when is he ever going to find another girl like this one?_ He didn't verbalize it, but Hotch understood Morgan's concern about Reid finding a mate. Or just a friend outside the BAU who could accept and appreciate him. As Haley had said with her last breath…_it's the most important thing_.

"All the conditions still apply. He'll be accompanied by one of us. And when it's over…it's over. Unless Reid wants to continue a relationship with Bescardi. And then we'd better be _damn_ sure it's what he wants, not something he's being coerced into."

Rossi leaned back and considered the situation. "Alright. Then I think you should be the chaperone, Hotch. Carol knows me enough to be a little too comfortable around me. Even when I play the bad guy." He stood and moved to open the window blinds. "But you…She doesn't know you. You're an unknown factor thrown into her equation. And you've got that wolf-eye thing going on."

Hotch frowned.

"Yeah…like that."

XXXXXXXXX

Later that night, Reid called Ana and told her he'd go with her to Bescardi's retreat. He told her how surprised he was that his boss was being supportive. And that Hotch would be coming, too.

Ana was delighted. "I'll call the clinic tomorrow and accept the invitation then. It'll be me, plus…two…I guess."

Neither one had any idea that Ana's RSVP would send Bescardi into a feverish frenzy of activity to throw together the first-ever Paranormal Investigative Center Psychic's Retreat.

It would have to be someplace appropriately remote.

Someplace where cell phone service was nonexistent.

Someplace where interruptions of any kind were rare. And where, if they did occur, they could be controlled.

Or eliminated.


	31. Clarification and Arrival

It took Dr. Bescardi nearly a month of frantic searching to find a suitable venue.

During that time, she could concentrate on very little else. Her staff remarked on her distraction, her lack of focus. And they didn't understand why she fired a staff member.

But Bescardi understood why. The clinic was funded by private donations and government allocations. It wasn't enough to make the 'retreat' possible. The yearly salary, as small as it was, of a minor functionary gave her the leeway to lease a very exclusive hideaway.

It was upstate. It was slightly south of Malone and north of Tupper Lake. It was in the middle of land that no one visited and that passed through the thoughts of very few.

It was juuuuuust right.

It was an abandoned monastery in upstate New York.

The church had kept it functional. Maintained, but not occupied. Bescardi managed to rent the rights to both structure and land for a total of four days. The building consisted of a honeycomb of cells, a kitchen featuring a wood oven, and communal showers that spit a bit of rust no matter how long the water was allowed to run.

While Bescardi walked through the silent catacombs, she tried to use her phone. No signal could penetrate the stone walls. Outdoors, reception was spotty, unreliable. The doctor sighed with satisfaction. When she returned to civilization, she set about ordering supplies and paying extra to have them delivered to the remote locale where even a GPS seemed to have trouble functioning in the heavily-wooded terrain.

Once she was sure of the facility being properly stocked with food and equipment, Bescardi issued a formal invitation. There was no need to obtain the services of a printer; only two were produced. One went to Ana. The other to Reid. Ana had already committed herself 'plus two.' But after discussing the particulars detailed on the official invite with Spencer, it was decided that another call to the paranormal clinic was in order. Rossi did the honors, partly because he had already established himself as a sort of liaison between Reid and the clinic, but mostly because he wanted Hotch's participation as chaperone to come as a complete surprise.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bescardi was feeling almost ecstatic when she answered the phone. She'd announced she'd be taking a long weekend, but hadn't told anyone why. She had been assured that the monastery was ready. Everything was falling into place. She allowed herself to daydream about the accolades and honors she would garner once she had the remarkable Dr. Reid and his slightly less remarkable companion, the female subject, safely locked in her stable, so to speak.

And she was sure she could find a way to occupy or…neutralize…David Rossi once he had delivered the patient to the site. She almost welcomed the sound of his voice.

"Hello, Carol. How's it going?"

"Dave! Very well. I haven't heard from your Dr. Reid for a while, though. I hope everything's alright?"

Rossi ignored the way she had bypassed the common courtesy of asking after _his_ well-being and gone straight for Reid. "Couldn't be better. But you'll see for yourself soon, won't you?"

"I'm sorry?" She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn't supposed to know about the connection between the young doctor and the girl.

"You're…_retreat_…is it?"

"Oh! Has Dr. Reid decided to attend? I'd be sooo delighted if he would!"

Rossi thought it was time to lay his cards on the table and call Bescardi out concerning her tactics. "You know he'll be there."

"I do?" The laugh was almost believable. Almost. "Dave, really, _I'm_ not the psychic here. I only study and…try to _help_ them. How would I know what Dr. Reid's plans are?"

"Because you know what Ana Ashcroft's plans are. Because she already replied to you with a 'plus two.' And you know she and Reid are acquainted. I mean, really, Carol, how many of those ESP-ers do you think are walking around out there?"

Silence. Bescardi was running rapid calculations, trying to weigh the consequences of acknowledging Rossi's claim against protesting her innocence. She concluded there was nothing to be gained by continuing the charade. It might even be detrimental if it fed Rossi's suspicious nature. She sighed and adopted another strategy.

"Alright. I suspected Dr. Reid and Ms. Ashcroft had met. I was only trying to allow them some privacy. If they want their…friendship?...to be discrete, who am I to deny them that. And, David, discretion is the mainstay of our agreement, isn't it?" _There! I've accounted for any pretense and turned it back on him…on the conditions __**he's**__ imposed on this whole situation._

"Just so you know, Carol, the 'plus two' includes the chaperone. And to be even more clear, this counts as Reid's remaining two sessions with you. He'll be free to leave and never return once this is over. Got it?"

"Really, you make me sound like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, Dave. I'm not going to devour your agent. And I do need to remind _you_ that Dr. Reid is also free to _continue_ his work with me should he choose to do so. _Got it?_"

"As long as we understand each other." Rossi shifted gears. "Now, about the arrangements for transportation included in the invitation. It says a car will pick participants up from the nearest airstrip and bring them to the retreat location. Don't bother on Reid's account. We'll rent a car."

"It's a three hour drive, Dave. And it's somewhat hard to find. I'm only trying to make things easier." Bescardi tried to keep annoyance out of her voice. _He wants a way to leave at a moment's notice…without having to rely on me._

"I appreciate that. But we'll rent a car. So, if you want Reid there, you'll need to provide some driving directions or GPS coordinates."

"GPS isn't totally reliable out there." There was a note of defeat, but only a faint one, as Bescardi accepted more frustrating conditions attendant on access to her prime test subject. "I'll send you a map with the route marked on it. Anything else?"

"Just a reminder. Dr. Reid's situation demands discretion and freedom of choice. If he's denied that, if either condition is compromised, then you risk your professional life. You'll be discredited and your funding will dry up. Guaranteed." Rossi heard another deep sigh on the other end of the call.

"I get it, Dave. I get it in spades. Are we done?"

"Don't let your…enthusiasm…affect good judgment, Carol. I imagine it can be very hard to see clearly when your vision is obscured by one all-encompassing, all-important goal."

"Dave, you worry too much. This weekend then? Dr. Reid will be there?"

"He'll be there. But not alone."

"Understood."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

Five days later, Carol Bescardi hovered about the monastery entrance, anxiously awaiting the arrival of her star subject. She had contacted Ana days earlier and been told not to bother picking her up from the airstrip either.

When a dusty rental car with darkened windows pulled into the rustic driveway, the doctor was sure it would contain Reid, Ana and David Rossi. She put on her best professional smile as the girl and then the young doctor emerged. But she was hard-pressed to maintain the expression when the driver side door opened and, instead of Rossi, a stranger appeared. He might have been described as tall, dark and handsome, but in Bescardi's lexicon he looked quite simply…dangerous…unexpected. And with very unsettling eyes.

Her smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. As she walked forward, hand extended in greeting, she reminded herself that she was above all an experimental scientist, a researcher. And if an unknown variable popped up unexpectedly, she would just have to find a way to minimize its impact.

By the time she took the hand of the newcomer, she was already thinking of a way to remove him and any unfortunate influence he might have on the outcome of the weekend.

For the noble cause of science.


	32. Making Adjustments

Spencer Reid made a mistake.

When Dr. Bescardi approached him and his entourage of two, he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Beneath a lifetime of pain and loneliness, Reid had managed to remain a kindly soul, who knew from experience what it was like to suffer the harsh judgment of one's peers. As a child, he'd vowed that he would never go out of his way to make someone uncomfortable without a solid, worthy reason to do so. He would never exclude or bully or taunt or snub just because someone was 'different.' Such taunting and bullying were the hallmarks of his childhood and adolescence. Although less frequent, they were still present in his adult life, too. True to his superior intellect, he chose to use his own bad experiences as stepping stones to reach a higher personal plateau. He could just as easily have let them ruin him or turn him toward vengeance for the cruel teasing he'd suffered. But in the end, gentility and thoughtfulness were his guides. Not the memories of pain.

So Reid tried to put himself in Bescardi's place and find explanations for the discomfiting vibes both he and Ana picked up from her.

_More than anyone, even if she doesn't share in it herself, she knows about the ability to read someone's thoughts and feelings, to know things you shouldn't…couldn't. Wouldn't __**anyone**__ be a little uncomfortable knowing they were around such abilities? Maybe she feels vulnerable with people like me and Ana. Maybe we should cut her some slack_. _She's putting herself in a difficult position in order to learn, to break new ground in a new field. And what she learns could help Ana and me understand ourselves._

So when Reid felt a shiver of anxiety as Bescardi approached, he discounted it. When he saw Ana give him a wary glance, reflecting her own reaction to the doctor, he decided to ignore it for the moment. And when Bescardi looked at Hotch with a flicker of displeasure, Reid had no trouble explaining it away.

_Hotch is a stranger to her; an unknown variable imposed upon an experiment. Any scientist would be unhappy about a wild card popping up in her control group._ Reid saw Hotch lift his chin and look down his narrow nose as the doctor drew near. _And Hotch doesn't exactly present a welcoming façade._

It was with the best of intentions that Reid stepped up to smooth the first contact between Bescardi and his boss.

"Dr. Bescardi, this is my Unit Chief at the BAU, SSA Aaron Hotchner. Hotch…Dr. Carol Bescardi."

"Ma'am." Hotch was sometimes unaware of the effect he had on people when he met them for the first time. It was second nature for him to subject them to his professional intensity. His job had made him a cautious man who catalogued and characterized, rather than greeted warmly.

But Bescardi took his hand and gripped it with just enough pressure to let this fierce-eyed chaperone know that she was not intimidated. Not by his height. Not by his glare. Not by the suit and tie that she interpreted as his version of professional armor. Privately, she acknowledged that she tried to convey the same thing with her ever-present lab coat. It was an announcement to the world: _I'm a professional. Don't touch_. _Respect, but don't touch._

"Mr. Hotchner. I was expecting David Rossi. I hope his absence isn't indicative of anything…um…wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm here as part of the agreement Dr. Reid has concerning his participation in your studies." Hotch returned the pressure of her grip just enough to convey his own dominance when it came to physical strength. "I hope that's not a problem for you?"

"Not at all." She released his hand and turned to where Reid and Ana were standing side by side. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, Bescardi adopted a new strategy. She elected to drop as much pretense as possible without giving her entire game plan away. She would pare down secrets and subterfuge in order to better conceal the most important items. She thought such a course of action would be wise in the presence of her subjects' combined talents.

She had been planning on pretending that there would be others joining them for the retreat. She had even considered some fake last-minute cancellation phone calls to support her tale. She abandoned the idea. _Less is more_, she told herself. _Less cover-up for small issues; more cover-up for important ones. Less for my subjects to detect; more for them to trustingly accept._

It was this strategy, the sudden abandonment of much of her dissembling, that encouraged Reid to put even more effort into trying to trust their hostess.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

After greeting Ana and giving both her intended subjects their own perfectly-pressured handshakes, Dr. Bescardi threw her arms wide, encompassing the entire monastery and the acreage in which it hid.

"So what do you think?" She didn't wait for an answer; she was so delighted with the location, she didn't need to hear anyone else's opinion. "It's a little rustic, but we are now absolutely, completely, unequivocally divorced from the noise and psychic disturbances of civilization." She smiled blissfully as her eyes roved over the heavy stone masonry. When she felt her guests had had enough time to appreciate the perfection of their surroundings, she turned back to them and their dust-encrusted vehicle.

"Let's get you three settled in. You can look around for the rest of the day while I prepare dinner. Tomorrow we'll go to work."

Hotch had been reaching into the backseat of their car for his go-bag. When Bescardi mentioned dinner, he froze. And frowned. "_You're_ cooking?" She nodded, arms crossed in a defiant ask-me-why way. "So there's no staff here?" She shook her head. Hotch pulled his bag out and scanned the building and land once again. "How many other patients will be participating in this thing?"

Bescardi's smile was sweetness itself. "It's just us, Mr. Hotchner." Then she pulled out one of the lines Rossi had thrown her way during their last phone call. "Really, how many ESP-ers do you think are walking around out there?" Ruby lips stretched in a semblance of humor, she turned and headed for the arched, stone entrance. "Now. Follow me, please."

As Reid and Ana retrieved their own luggage from the backseat, Hotch and the younger agent exchanged looks across the roof of the car. Reid could feel some disturbing emanations. But he couldn't tell if it was traceable to something Bescardi was considering, or if it was just part of Hotch's patently visible uneasiness at finding how truly isolated they were.

As the three guests trudged after their hostess, Reid took the opportunity to whisper near Hotch's ear. "I think it'll be okay, Hotch. The whole point of this thing was to get us someplace with minimal outside interference…you know…of the mental, emotional, psychic kind. That's probably why there's no staff. It'd just be more background noise." Hotch's only response was to cast a worried, slightly skeptical glance Reid's way.

Ana looked back at the two men whispering behind her. She was feeling several different levels of emotion. She had noticed that the better she knew someone, the more dominant that person's feelings were in her perceptions. She knew Bescardi wasn't being totally open and she knew Reid's boss was uncomfortable with the whole situation. But clearest of all, she could feel Spencer's desire to dive into this weekend wholeheartedly. He wanted to learn about himself…and her…with no reservations, no restrictions. Ana suspected he had an almost child-like belief that giving someone the benefit of the doubt would go a long way toward making that person worthy of receiving such a benefit.

Spencer wanted to trust.

Ana already trusted him. She wanted to give him the gift of letting him follow his heart this weekend. So she looked back at grim Mr. Hotchner, who had asked her to call him 'Hotch,' and smiled. "Maybe she's a good cook. She's Italian. How bad could it be?"

Hotch nodded, but didn't return her smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Dr. Bescardi puttered about in the monastery kitchen, putting together a simple dinner that fit her heritage and suited the bucolic setting. Pasta, garlic bread and salad.

She had also set up her ad-hoc chemistry lab here because of the ample counter space. As she chopped and stirred, she considered the unexpected variable of Aaron Hotchner.

She estimated him to weigh between 180 and 190 pounds. Not much for a man his height, but different from David Rossi's weight. Less than Rossi, despite being a taller man. Bescardi had concocted a very special mixture to administer to the designated chaperone. But only if he became…problematic.

She sighed and shook her head.

She'd have to lighten the dosage in view of Hotchner's slimmer build.

She had a feeling Dr. Reid's boss was indeed going to be…problematic.


	33. Bedtime

Dr. Bescardi's apprehensions about Agent Hotchner's effect on the retreat were confirmed at dinner.

She tried for a bright, congenial atmosphere despite the echoing immensity of the refectory where meals would be served. She was transporting a large bowl of pasta from kitchen to table when her three guests found their way in.

"So what do you think of your rooms? Rather Spartan, but you _do_ have to remember they were originally monks' cells."

Hotch cleared his throat before replying. "Actually, I made some…rearrangements. I'm sure you won't mind." While Bescardi was considering the import of that little tidbit, the suited agent did another…problematic…thing. He surveyed the long, wooden table at which four settings had been laid. One at the head of the table, one on the immediate left side and two on the right. Without hesitation, he walked to the seat at the head of the table.

Reid compressed his lips to keep from snickering out loud. Ana nudged him. He gave her a single raised eyebrow in return. She took it to mean he'd explain Hotch's behavior later. Ana assumed Dr. Bescardi, as official hostess, had intended to occupy the seat traditionally reserved for the acknowledged authority figure. The doctor skewered Hotch with a look that said that had indeed been her intention.

Instead of protesting, Bescardi set the bowl of pasta down with careful deliberation. She was a methodical woman and chose to address things in the order in which they occurred. She began with Hotch's announcement about rearranging the rooms she'd assigned.

"Was there a…_problem_…with your rooms? Anything I can set right, Mr. Hotchner?"

"No, thank you. It's all taken care of." Hotch removed his jacket, draping it over the high, straight, back of the chair. Marking it as his territory, in effect. "They were just too far apart, so I moved some things around."

Bescardi took a steadying breath. "These premises are rented, Mr. Hotchner. Any substantive changes you make to them will be difficult for me to explain to the church that holds my lease."

Hotch's eyes were issuing a clear challenge. "I moved Reid and Ms. Ashcroft into the same room."

Bescardi's brows shot to their highest possible position. "I'm sorry. I didn't know their relationship merited…uh…cohabitation."

"I don't know the particulars of their…_relationship_. I wanted them together so I could watch over them." Hotch maintained eye contact. "I'll be sleeping just outside their doorway."

Bescardi's reaction actually choked her. It was part laugh, part snort, part disbelieving gasp. She ended up coughing and turning away until her breathing was under control. "Agent Hotchner, you don't actually mean to sleep on the floor? The stone floor?"

"Yes."

"Why? For God's sake why would you think that was necessary?"

Hotch shrugged. "It's my job." Then the gentleman in Hotch asserted itself and forced its way to the top. "Can I help you with anything in the kitchen?"

Bescardi's first reaction was to refuse this troublesome man's offer, but in an instant, she changed her mind. Nodding graciously, she let him fall into step beside her. Cognizant of the acoustics in the huge space, she waited to speak until they were behind the solid wooden doors to the kitchen. She indicated the tray of sliced bread, redolent with garlic, the bowl of steaming sauce and another mounded with fresh greens and a variety of chopped vegetables. A large carafe of red wine also waited to be brought out. As Hotch reached for one of the bowls, Bescardi placed a lightly restraining hand on his arm.

"Mr. Hotchner, I _do_ understand your concern. Really, I do. I've run into similar attitudes all my life. It's what happens when my dedication comes up against a layman's caution." She sighed and gave Hotch's arm a friendly pat. "The day is getting late and I'm too tired to go into it right now, but will you do me one favor tomorrow morning, before my subjects and I begin work?" She had been making a convincing show of being an essentially benevolent, but misunderstood, force until she referred to Reid and Ana as her 'subjects.'

Hotch covered the small frisson of alarm and distaste that shivered over him. His only response was to give her an inquiring look as he picked up the bowl of sauce.

"Just give me some time to explain my viewpoint and what I hope to accomplish, both this weekend and with my career." She moved her hand higher on his arm and gave what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "Early tomorrow, before we start. Can you do that? Please?"

Hotch glanced back toward the door and the refectory where Reid and Ana waited. He was relying on their perceptions to be the first line of defense. If something was about to go wrong, wouldn't they be the first to…feel…it? He looked down at the hand on his arm and decided he didn't like being touched by this woman. But he couldn't explain why. She hadn't done anything to warrant the hostile suspicion he was barely masking. And he was never impolite without clear cause.

"Alright. Tomorrow morning we'll talk." She smiled and let go of him. Hotch tried not to look too relieved. As he picked up the bowl of salad in his other hand, his eye fell on the neat rows of chemicals and beakers occupying one of the spacious, stone countertops. He frowned.

Bescardi followed his glance and smiled, shaking her head slightly as though this layman's ignorance was no more than she expected.

"My chem-lab, Mr. Hotchner. I'll be doing some blood tests on samples taken before, during and after some of the tests. It'll be interesting to see if there are any chemical changes attendant on psychic activity." She placed the carafe of wine on the same tray holding the bread and lifted it in both hands. Pushing the heavy door open with one hip, she smiled at Hotch. "You worry too much, Mr. Hotchner. But I understand. It's your job. Hopefully, after we talk tomorrow, you'll understand _my_ job a little better, yes?"

"Maybe." Hotch followed Bescardi into the refectory. "But that won't change that I'm here to look after Reid…and Ana, too."

"Of course." Bescardi turned her attention to the young couple sitting side by side at the table. _Yes. Agent Hotchner is probably closer to 180 pounds, now that I've had a chance to see him without his jacket._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

After dinner while Reid and Ana made a few more rearrangements in the cell they'd be sharing, Hotch tried to call Rossi. He quickly discovered there was no reception within the monastery's ancient, stone corridors. He decided to postpone touching bases with his team until morning. Maybe he'd have better luck outside. He would have tested the outdoor reception right then, but he was tired and the night was absolutely pitch black. Looking through one of the windows, Hotch realized how much light the glow of civilization provided. Although the monastery had electricity and central heating, it didn't have any exterior installations. No floodlights. No atmospheric landscape illumination.

A phrase of poetry surfaced from Hotch's schooldays. _This is the forest primeval…_ He shivered and reflected that it took being out in the true wilderness to remember how fragile a creature man was. And how tribal. He wouldn't want to be alone out here. The best comfort in such surroundings was human company. He headed back toward the cell where his two companions were waiting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

Reid and Ana decided to forego the questionable comfort of sleeping on the narrow pallet in the monk's cell. Instead, they gathered several of the thin mattresses and made three thicker, if still narrow, beds. As per Hotch's instructions, they put his in the hall, lying across the doorway.

The monastery seemed to command silence. Especially after dark. As he'd retrieved mattresses, Reid had trailed one hand along the rough-hewn stone walls. The faint impression of chanting, of slow processions of robed and hooded figures was hard to shake. It left him feeling solemn, almost reverent. To balance himself out, he went over the day's events.

For the most part, it had been a good day. A light-hearted one, even.

He'd been anxious about introducing Ana to Hotch for the first time, but now that moment was one of his fondest memories. They'd agreed to make their individual ways to the distant airstrip. There, they would meet and drive to their destination. Reid and Hotch had arrived together. Reid had seen Ana from across the small terminal. She'd been waiting. Both their faces lit up. Reid bounded across the space that separated them. Taking Ana's hand, a liberty he was still amazed he could claim, he'd brought her over to meet his boss.

Hotch always assessed new acquaintances through what Rossi called his wolf-eye look. It wasn't a conscious choice, although it was frequently an alarming one to those who were meeting him for the first time.

But Ana wasn't alarmed at all. Reid had put her directly in front of Hotch and performed the introductions.

"Hotch, this is Ana. Anastasia Kassandra Ashcroft. Ana,…my boss, Aaron Hotchner."

Reid had already told her about Hotch's part in finding her sister, Sarah, and how the Unit Chief had risked himself to locate Reid and bring him back in the aftermath of his contact with her sister's murderer. Ana had looked at the tall, forbidding presence before her. She'd stepped closer, reaching up to grasp Hotch's lapels, one in each hand. She'd pulled his face within inches of her own. Somehow, the simple ease with which she'd done it, made her handling Hotch seem like the most natural thing in the world.

Her voice was soft when she'd spoken and Hotch had seen unshed tears in the grave eyes searching his own.

"This is for finding Sarah," she had said, and placed a feather-light kiss on his left cheek. "And this is for finding Spencer." She kissed his right cheek. She'd released him, but her touch had lingered. She'd let the palms of her hands rest on his chest while she looked at him.

Reid would never forget how Hotch's stern expression had softened, then melted. The smile he had beamed at Ana was a rarity; open, unguarded, unconditional.

"Thank you…" he'd said. "…for finding Spencer, too."

And right then, Reid had known that as far as Hotch was concerned, Ana was very possibly that find-of-a-lifetime…'the one'…for his youngest agent.

Now, as they settled into the silent isolation of this ancient place, Reid marveled at how lucky he was to have people like Hotch and Ana in his life. It almost made it easy to forget how lonely the rest of it had been.


	34. Morning in the Mountains

Ana, Reid and Hotch prepared themselves for their first night in the monastery.

After the long, dusty drive, the men opted for showers. Ana took one look at the occasional bit of rust spewing from the showerheads, wrinkled her nose and said that girls didn't sweat the way men did. She'd pass.

Nonetheless, Hotch asked her to stay within hearing distance, just around the corner from the lavatory facilities. In turn, he and Reid stood guard while Ana brushed and rinsed and freshened. It gave the Unit Chief a chance to tell Reid about his conversation in the kitchen with Dr. Bescardi.

"She says she wants some time alone with me tomorrow morning, before you guys start doing…_whatever_ it is you'll be doing." He leaned his back against a wall and felt the cold of the stone surface seep through the thin t-shirt and sweatpants that all three of them had apparently chosen as appropriate nightwear. "Seems to think she can change my mind."

Reid toweled at his damp, tangled hair and shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to listen." Hotch rolled his eyes. "Hotch, she wouldn't be receiving enough funding to keep that clinic open if she didn't have some merit as a scientist. I know she kind of creeps people out, but maybe she'll say something worth hearing."

Ana came around the corner in time to catch the end of Reid's statement. Hotch looked at her. "What'd'you think, Ana? Do you trust her?" He pushed off from the wall and listened to her answer as they walked back toward their sleeping quarters.

Ana still wanted Reid to be able to experience the retreat and all it might offer without reservations. But she couldn't deny her empathic perception of Dr. Bescardi.

"I think Reid's right. She has professional value and it wouldn't hurt to listen to her." She turned in the shadowy corridor, lit only by sparsely-spaced, low wattage, bare bulbs, and gave Hotch a considering look. "But I'm glad you're here, Hotch."

Reid smiled, determined to end the day on a high note. "Look on the bright side. Maybe she'll tell you something that'll explain why we all feel she's a little…off…and then you'll be able to stop worrying and enjoy the scenery while we're locked away indoors."

"Maybe." Hotch didn't sound convinced. "And as for funding making her more palatable…Uncle Sam pays our salaries, so you could say Erin Strauss is government funded, too, ya know."

Reid muffled a derisive snort. Hotch's rare displays of dry wit tended to catch him off-guard.

Which brought them to their double-occupancy cell.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxx

After a round of 'good nights' and 'sleep wells,' Hotch stretched out on the triple-thick pile of mattresses they'd laid out for him in the hall. He stared into the darkness and thought about tomorrow. He planned to call Quantico first thing, if possible. Then, he would listen to Dr. Bescardi's explanation, whatever it might be. Then, he supposed he'd just follow the others around, looking wary and dangerous. _Lurking. That's what I'll do tomorrow. I'll lurk_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxx

Inside the cramped cell, Reid and Ana nestled into their respective beds, separated by mere inches. While Hotch planned his itinerary of stealthy lurking, the young couple conducted their own whispered discussion.

"What was all that in the dining hall?" Ana spoke without being able to see her companion. Night had taken the monastery and enveloped it in a lack of light so total that it was impossible to see someone even a foot away.

"Hotch was marking his territory, demonstrating to Bescardi that she's not in charge of him." Ana could hear the smile in Reid's voice. "He does stuff like that a lot. Emily Prentiss, one of the agents in my team, says we have the dynamics of a pack, because Hotch is an extreme alpha wolf."

Ana chuckled. "I like him, but I see what you mean."

Encouraged, Reid elaborated. "Hotch stays late at work a lot. Penelope Garcia, our tech analyst, says when he's there all alone, he shape-shifts and runs around the place howling. She says that's how he blows off steam." Ana's chuckle erupted into a quickly-stifled laugh.

Before she had quite recovered, a low, growling, baritone whisper from the direction of the hallway overrode the noise they were making.

"Reid! May I remind you that the acoustics in this place make it almost impossible to have a private conversation. Be quiet and go to sleep. Both of you." After a few beats of silence… "or I'll huff…and I'll puff…and, well, you know the rest."

It was impossible to hold the laughter in. Reid and Ana did their best to follow Hotch's orders for quiet by burying their faces in pillows and multiple layers of blankets. When the fit of hilarity finally passed, both lay gasping, ready to call it a day.

Reid couldn't see Ana in the pitch dark, but, after a while, he reached tentatively across the space between them. He smiled into the blackness when he encountered her hand making the same, shyly hopeful journey.

They laced their fingers together.

In the deathly silence of the monks' dormitory, where not even the sound of wind could penetrate, Reid and Ana held hands and communicated in their own special, wordless way late into the night.

At one point Hotch raised his head, sure he had heard whispers. But there was nothing for his ears to pick up. He decided to ignore the sensation.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Morning began with the three friends following the same pattern of guarding each other's bathroom routines.

Reid and Ana dressed casually, but Hotch stuck to his trademark suit and tie. It was just one more small tactic to keep Bescardi at bay. He didn't know exactly why the woman set his teeth on edge, but anything that might make her reciprocate the feeling and keep her distance, seemed like a good thing, worth embracing. He was fine with being disliked by someone so…dislikeable.

Hotch knotted his tie with extra precision just for the doctor.

Reid and Ana went to the refectory in search of breakfast. Hotch said he'd join them after checking in with Rossi. He walked out to the courtyard where their rental car was parked alongside the van Bescardi had driven. The chilly morning air reminded Hotch of the monastery's elevation. This was mountain country where the temperature difference between night and day could span thirty or forty degrees. He shivered a little as he tested phone reception.

He couldn't reach Rossi at all. Couldn't even tell if the call was connecting. He tried another number. When Morgan answered, Hotch could barely understand him. The scratchy, in-and-out, fade-and-fail voice still tried to communicate, though.

"Morgan, I can't hear you."

"Hotch,…h…thing…ing?"

"If you can hear me and you're asking how things are going,…okay, so far. It's a beautiful place, but I'm just not comfortable with the company, if you know what I mean."

Scratchy static and then silence was the only response.

"Damn." Hotch closed his phone and slipped it back in his pocket. He took a moment to appreciate the pristine, crisp air, inhaling the pine fragrance only found hovering over unspoiled wilderness. _It'd be nice to come back here with Jack and Rossi. Perfect place for camping, hiking._ He sighed, regretting the circumstances of this visit, but resigned to them. He was about to turn back and see about getting something to eat when a gentle nudge on his arm made him look down.

The perfectly manicured hand with its ruby nails wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee could only belong to one person.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid and Ana could have found the refectory blindfolded. Aromatic scents of bacon and coffee drifted through the stone corridors, luring them forward.

When they reached the source of the marvelous odors, they found the same table they had occupied the previous night laid with the same arrangement of settings, but with the addition of large serving dishes of scrambled eggs, bacon, bread, fruit and cheese. As they approached the table, a slightly disheveled-looking Carol Bescardi emerged from the kitchen, a pot of coffee in one hand; a pitcher of orange juice in the other.

Reid smiled and for the first time actually believed deep inside that maybe they'd all misjudged the research scientist. With tendrils of hair drifting about her face, courtesy of the steamy job of cooking; with an incongruous floral apron tied over her ubiquitous lab coat, she looked too domestic to pose any kind of threat. She deposited the beverages on the table and smiled, vainly trying to pat her hair back in place.

"Good morning. Everyone sleep well?" She didn't wait for responses or answers. Looking toward the door through which Reid and Ana had entered, she sounded a little breathless when she spoke. "Where's Mr. Hotchner? Won't he be joining us?"

"He's trying to phone home." Reid smiled at his own obscure E.T. reference. He loved old science fiction movies. "This looks great, Dr. Bescardi. I'm starving."

"Oh, well…thank you." The doctor seemed distracted, but recovered as her guests seated themselves. She glanced at the kitchen, then back at Reid. "Tell me, how does your boss take his coffee?"

"Black most of the time." Reid took the opportunity to pour himself and Ana large cups of the steaming stimulant.

"I need to talk with Mr. Hotchner in private before we get started today." Bescardi wiped her hands along the sides of her apron. "I think I'll just take him some coffee." She seemed to be thinking of something else again. "…from the pot in the kitchen." She trotted off, moving fast. Reid assumed she was eager to begin their first full day of testing.

When she returned with two full mugs of coffee, Bescardi had removed her apron and neatened her hair. The scientist had replaced the innkeeper.

"I'll just take this to Mr. Hotchner and we'll have our discussion." She paused to address the couple eating breakfast. "This may take some time, but I think it'll be worth it. If I'm successful in communicating my viewpoint to your boss, he'll probably go off on his own and take advantage of fine weather and a beautiful location. That'll leave us with no _distractions_, no unharmonious emanations from an outsider, if you will, yes?" Without waiting for acknowledgement, the doctor practically sprinted for the door, trying not to spill on her way.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Bescardi couldn't believe her luck. She'd been wondering how and when an opportunity to get Hotchner alone would ever arise. This was perfect. If it took her a while to dispose of the hostile agent, she'd covered her tracks already. Her test subjects would think she and Hotchner had been engaged in discussion. She was almost home free.

Now, if she could just be sure the man would drink his coffee.


	35. A Drive in the Country

Hotch looked at the hand proffering an aromatic cup of his favorite beverage.

Coffee.

Black and hot.

He mastered his reflexive desire to step away from the touch of the woman offering it, and took the cup she was pressing against his arm. He didn't want to appear rude, so he stood his ground and smiled his thanks. Actually, the warmth of the cup felt good cradled in his hands. It was comforting against the morning chill. Bescardi watched him take a small sip, testing the temperature.

It was her turn to smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Hotchner."

"Dr. Bescardi." Hotch still didn't like her, even if the coffee was a welcome gift. He kept greetings as short as possible with people he didn't feel good about. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"In a minute." Her smile grew wider. "Enjoy your coffee first." She drank her own and watched the FBI agent do the same. _Monkey see, monkey do._ She reminded herself to remain cordial, even if she _was_ dealing with an inferior intellect. When Hotch had taken a few swallows, she began the distasteful task of explaining herself to someone who couldn't possibly understand.

"Mr. Hotchner, I don't expect you to agree with anything I'm about to say. But I do hope that you'll try to see past my methods and embrace the value of my goals." The man just looked at her over the rim of his cup. "The reason I brought your remarkable Dr. Reid out here…"

"And Ana."

Bescardi paused, discomfited by the interruption. "Yes, yes. Ana, too." Hotch disliked the way she discounted humanity and treated others as though they were cheap action figures. One could play with them and if they broke, they could be replaced easily enough.

"And me."

This time the doctor's only acknowledgement was to narrow her eyes at him.

"Do you know what people like Dr. Reid…and Ana…have been called throughout history?" As usual, Bescardi didn't wait for answers. She didn't expect a shallow guard-dog mentality like this man's to extend into the realms of higher learning. "Witches. Demons. Unnatural. Evil. A whole class of people with extraordinary gifts have been persecuted and destroyed in civilization after civilization. It still happens today, Mr. Hotchner! You can still find instances of people being burned alive…at the stake. Accused of witchcraft! Of being _gifted_." Bescardi reigned herself in and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Humankind's biggest fear is the unknown. Did you know that, Mr. Hotchner? Because of ignorance, of a lack of quantifiable, demonstrable data, the evolution of the human race may have been set back, truncated by these…these…superstitious bigots who would rather destroy such amazingly gifted creatures than study them and admit they're superior beings! A step up on the evolutionary ladder."

"People," said Hotch.

"Pardon?"

"People. You said 'creatures.' These are _people_ we're talking about. Specifically, Spencer Reid and Ana Ashcroft."

"As you wish." Bescardi waved a hand in front of her face as though warding off an irritating insect. "The work I am doing will free these…people…from the shackles of mankind's ignorance. If we study them, understand them, they will no longer be frightening. No longer the things of legend and nightmare. They will be free to live among us and breed and…and…" The light of fanaticism was shining in the doctor's eyes. It made Hotch shiver. "…and maybe someday we will be able to _enhance_ them. Can you imagine the impact my work could have on actually _improving_ the human race, Mr. Hotchner?"

Hotch shivered again and began to wonder if it was Bescardi's avid fanaticism…or something else.

"Mr. Hotchner? Are you alright?" Even as she feigned surprised concern, Bescardi knew she had a very limited amount of time to maneuver the FBI agent into the car in which he'd arrived.

Vertigo hit Hotch like a tsunami. He staggered backward and slammed into the side of the rental car. The cup fell from his grip and he flailed about, trying to stay upright. Fear and panic blossomed up from his gut, ravening its way to his brain. All he knew was something was terribly wrong. He barely noticed the doctor patting down his pockets until she found the car keys. He was too busy trying to remember which direction gravity pulled from to realize she was hustling him into the passenger side of the car. Pupils dilated with terror, he couldn't separate the movement of the vehicle from the way his brain seemed to be spinning inside his skull.

All he wanted was for it to go away. A small whimper escaped him as he finally grasped the fact that the dizzy, light-headed, disabling, whirling sensation was being generated internally. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bescardi watched the man curl into a helpless ball in the seat beside her. She felt a certain amount of panic herself; she'd never done anything like this before. But she refused to linger on the possible consequences, preferring to concentrate on the accolades she'd garner for the brilliant data she would harvest from this series of experiments. Experiments whose validity would be compromised if a guard-dog with a mind full of suspicions and skepticism was allowed to haunt the premises, permeating it with the emanations of his blighted, primitive mentality. Exactly the kind of perceptions that had plagued and destroyed creatures like Reid through the millennia.

She drove along a packed trail that barely passed for a road and cast anxious looks at her moaning victim.

"Mr. Hotchner, please believe me, if there was another way…one that wouldn't consume too much time…I would have taken it. But I need you out of the way." She glanced at him. It was impossible to tell if he heard her or could comprehend, if he did. She gulped nervously.

"You'll be fine. I just gave you a little…concoction…of my own design. I couldn't have you roaming about, so your mobility will be affected for some time. But there should be no residual effects once you metabolize the drugs." Bescardi tried to see if the huddled bundle making animal sounds was paying attention.

Whether or not Hotch could appreciate her creativity and cleverness, she couldn't resist preening just a little.

"You might be interested to know that I developed something new: a time-release factor. So the level of, uh, disorientation you're experiencing right now should continue for a few hours. But it will wear off. Eventually." She didn't mention that her creation would also affect his memory.

Even as she congratulated herself, Bescardi gave a horrified gasp of realization. She'd been so anxious to drug the agent before he returned to the group, she'd rushed herself. The dosage Hotch had imbibed was meant for a man weighing around 200 pounds. Not 180. The doctor shook her head and told herself to 'snap out of it.' So the agent would be dizzy and unbalanced for a little longer._ So what?! He'll be fine. In the end he'll be fine and my work will exonerate me_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

Dr. Bescardi's original plan had been to drive a short distance away, leaving Hotch in the car where he would be immobilized until the drug wore off. She was going to tell Dr. Reid and Ana that their talk had gone very well, and that Mr. Hotchner had decided to tour the countryside instead of standing vigil over work he found boring and would never be able to comprehend anyway. She would 'find' him at the end of the day, disoriented and unable to recollect anything. She'd insist he be taken away for medical care and…_presto_!...they would all be rid of troublesome Agent Hotchner.

But doing this at _all_,…abducting someone…and then getting the dosage wrong had rattled her. Her mind was working at lightning speed on several different levels simultaneously. She was still running over the possible consequences of her actions and trying to convince herself that the results of her work would go a long way to smoothing over any infractions she committed. She was also anxious to get back to her subjects. She would have to jog or at least walk very quickly. She had worn running shoes in preparation.

Now she jeered at herself. _You could remember the proper footwear, but __**not**__ the proper dosage!_

With all these distractions, Bescardi didn't notice Hotch's determination to escape. When she had driven approximately a mile, she stopped the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

Hotch pulled in on himself, hoping that he'd find something, _anything_, stable to hold onto. Sometimes, when he was on the edge of sleep, he'd get a falling sensation and snap awake, his body jerking as though trying to catch itself from plummeting into oblivion. That was part of what he felt now. But there was no waking up. No coming out of it. Waves of nausea pounded into him as his center of gravity wobbled away, leaving him helpless.

Still, he was a trained agent and, despite Bescardi's judgment, an intelligent man.

His vision was compromised. Everything seemed to be jumping and looping. There was nothing solid to grab onto. But he forced himself to notice the door handle. It kept moving, but maybe if he grabbed at it and around it with both hands…maybe he could find it.

Hotch couldn't think past the goal of Getting Away. It was remarkable that he could process as much as he did, considering the dosage he'd been given.

As the car stopped, he managed to find the true door handle among the splintering, whirling imposters. With both hands and a superhuman effort, he pulled on it. When the door actually fell open, he allowed himself a small sob of relief. Before Bescardi noticed, he pushed with all his strength, ignoring the spinning, sick feeling in his stomach.

Unfortunately, Bescardi had parked on the edge of an incline.

Unfortunately, the incline was on the passenger side.

Agent Hotchner propelled himself out the door and promptly disappeared over the precipice.


	36. Signs of Worry

Bescardi lunged across the seat, grabbing for the disappearing agent, but she was too late.

Hotch went over the edge of the incline. The doctor could track his progress by the crunching sound of brush and bracken as he tumbled down the slope.

_Damn, damn, damn_. The doctor threw open her door, jumped out and ran to the other side of the car. Things were just _not_ going according to plan!

Looking over the edge she could see the dark-suited figure flopping and writhing, trying to right itself. Bescardi shook her head. It would be useless to tell him to stop struggling. She had a feeling he was the type who would never give up. But considering the characteristics and the amount of the drug he'd imbibed, she didn't think he'd regain his feet for several hours.

She checked her watch. There was no time to attempt dragging him back up to the car. She needed to get back to her subjects. Mr. Hotchner would just have to wait until she returned at the end of the day. Since he was moving about, it didn't look as though he'd seriously damaged himself in the fall. _He'll be fine. Serves him right for doing something as stupid as trying to get away_.

She slammed the passenger door shut and decided to turn the car around. It would be easier to do so now, rather than when darkness and a complete lack of streetlights rendered the maneuver risky on such a narrow path.

Once that was accomplished, Bescardi was ready to walk the mile back to the monastery. She looked down one last time at Hotch and took pity on him. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called down to him.

"Mr. Hotchner, that was a _very_ foolish move, jumping out that way. However, if you make it back up while I'm gone, just wait in the car. Rest. I'll be back for you later." She couldn't tell if he'd heard or understood. His mind might be so addled by unaccustomed chemicals, he'd have no idea what had happened anyway. Disgusted at herself for letting the unexpected occur, and with Reid and Ana on her mind, Dr. Bescardi turned away and began the hike back. With so much occupying her thoughts, she completely forgot to leave the car unlocked.

And the keys were in her pocket when she left.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

As Hotch lay at the bottom of the shallow ravine, he couldn't stop his body from twisting and contorting like a cat in free fall, trying to right itself. Problem was, his brain couldn't settle on what 'right' was. Going over the side of the cliff hadn't felt much different than lying still. Except for the tears in his skin and clothing. And the bruises. And the popping sensation in his right knee. Otherwise, it felt like the same uncontrolled, spinning, rushing, floating. And there was a peculiar roaring noise in his ears. He couldn't hear much else.

He hadn't been able to hear Bescardi telling him he'd be fine or that she'd be back for him. For all he knew, this condition was permanent.

More than anything else, Hotch felt scared.

And alone.

So very, very alone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxx

The walk back gave Dr. Bescardi time to calm herself. It also gave her time to practice a technique she'd developed over the years that she thought of as 'blanking.'

Reid had been right when he'd suspected she might feel vulnerable associating with those who could have unauthorized access to her thoughts. She wasn't sure if it worked, but she theorized that doing repetitious, rote mental exercises would make telepathy more difficult. She likened it to chanting a mantra over and over until a barrier was in the forefront of the mind, masking the deeper levels of thought.

It had been an upsetting morning. She latched onto the first mindless activity she could. Bescardi counted her steps and imagined her worries drifting like silt and settling at the bottom of her thoughts, at the deepest conscious level. After a while she felt peaceful and back in control.

By the time she reached the monastery, she had quite literally put Hotch out of her mind. Or at least buried him very deeply.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

It was Reid and Ana's first meal alone…just the two of them.

They didn't count the hot dog episode in Central Park mainly because they'd both forgotten to actually eat. Bescardi and Hotch were somewhere verbally sparring. They didn't know how long this respite would last, but they took full advantage of it.

Ana told Reid more about growing up in a tiny, California town as the local misfit. Reid found an extraordinary number of parallel experiences in his own background. The discussion ranged over family, education, interests, fears, dreams, hopes.

At one point Reid sat straighter and Ana noticed an unfocused look in his eyes.

"Spencer? What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe nothing." He turned his gaze on her. "I think Dr. Bescardi and Hotch might be…arguing?"

Ana smiled. "Wouldn't surprise me. They don't feel very compatible when I see them together."

Reid shook his head, trying to dislodge the anxious sensation that felt like a stain at the edge of his mind. "You're probably right. It'll be interesting to see who comes out on top, though. I think…" His words trailed off as Ana stiffened, closing her eyes for a few seconds. It was Reid's turn to ask if something was wrong.

"No. I just…" She opened her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her hands. "…I just get these, like, _flashes_ sometimes. I see things. Part of why I came to Dr. Bescardi."

"What'd you see?" Reid leaned closer. It struck him as odd that they should both have, for lack of a better analogy, psychic blips on their radar almost simultaneously.

"Nothing bad, really. I don't think so anyway." She seemed to have fully recovered. The smile was back. "Just Hotch standing in the forest. Leaning against a tree, I think."

"Anything else?"

"No." She looked thoughtful. "Maybe he's doing what Bescardi hoped and taking some time to explore the countryside. He looks like a guy who'd like the outdoors."

"That'd be great." Reid relaxed back into his chair. "I feel kinda guilty about making him hang around when he really doesn't wanna be near this kind of stuff." He waved vaguely to encompass the entire facility, but Ana knew he meant the experiments and testing that would take place.

"And most of all, he really doesn't wanna be around…_her_."

Reid knew who she meant. "Yeah, that too."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx

It was Saturday, but Derek Morgan couldn't get his mind out of the office. Something was gnawing at him, preventing him from enjoying an otherwise beautiful day.

He knew if Rossi could manage it, he liked to leave work early on Fridays. He sometimes came in on Saturday mornings to make up for it. The BAU was a little quieter then and paperwork got done more quickly.

Morgan hoped he'd stuck to that routine.

When he pulled into the Bureau garage, he was relieved to see Rossi's BMW in its assigned space. He sprinted to the elevators and used the ride up to decide how he'd present his concerns to the older agent. Morgan didn't want to seem like a worrier. Sometimes Rossi accused him of just that. Especially when it came to Hotch. Morgan shook his head as the doors whooshed open, admitting him to the lobby. Their Unit Chief did have a way of attracting trouble. Morgan hoped the more experienced Rossi would allay his worries.

If he couldn't, then Morgan hoped he'd have a traveling companion for a trip upstate.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

Rossi was a little surprised by the tap on his door. He was more surprised by the level of anxiety Morgan could communicate simply by entering his office and taking a seat.

"De-e-e-rek? What's wrong?"

Morgan didn't like that he was so readable, but it did streamline things and allowed him to plunge right into the heart of the matter.

"Got a call from Hotch earlier."

Still leaning over the report he'd been proofing, Rossi raised his brows. "And?"

"And I could barely hear him. I know he wasn't picking me up very well either."

Rossi didn't move. "They're in an area where reception is an iffy thing. You know that."

Morgan chewed on his lower lip and fidgeted in his seat. "Yeah. I also know if this was a case, we wouldn't put up with not being able to communicate with him. We wouldn't leave our man out there alone."

Rossi sat a little straighter. "This isn't a case."

"Then how come I feel like Reid and that girl, Ana, are victims and this doctor friend of yours is the unsub?" Rossi slowly put the pen he'd been holding down, aligning it with the edge of the blotter on his desktop. Morgan took the movement as a sign that his argument had an attentive audience.

"I've made it very clear to Dr. Bescardi what would happen if she stepped out of line."

"What if she already has?"

Rossi looked out the window, stroking his beard. After a moment of contemplation, he sighed deeply. "You feel strongly about this? You're not just being overprotective of Hotch in light of the things that he's gone through this last year?"

"Yes, I feel strongly. And if there's anyone who deserves to be overprotected based on his track record, it's Hotch."

Rossi nodded and continued to gaze out at the sky over Quantico. Minutes passed, but Morgan knew better than to interrupt. Finally, the older agent stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back.

"I hear it's lovely country upstate." He pulled his go-bag out from its place under the desk.

"And I've always wanted to visit an honest-to-God monastery."


	37. Bad Choices

Bescardi was eager to begin when she reached the monastery.

Finding Reid and Ana lingering over a long, leisurely breakfast, she clapped her hands and rubbed them together in a brisk display of professional enthusiasm.

"I hope you two are ready to put in a good day's work! Shall we get started?" She was poised in the doorway, waiting for her test subjects to follow her. The young couple stood and pushed their chairs back, but Reid hesitated.

"Where's Hotch? Isn't he coming in to eat?"

Bescardi looked toward the main entrance. She fidgeted with the lapel of her lab coat and patted at several loose strands of hair. Tiny signs of being flustered that made Reid raise his chin and peer at her out of slitted eyes.

"Mr. Hotchner decided to take a drive. He said something about stopping for food along the way." She gave her guests a broad, almost apologetic grin. "I suppose he doesn't care for my cooking, yes?"

Seeing the skepticism in Reid's expression, Bescardi opted for another of her favorite ploys: putting just enough truth into the mixture to misdirect someone who could possibly be sensing her thoughts. "In all honesty, Dr. Reid…Ana…I don't think your friend likes me very much. And I think once he was convinced that I'm not going to sell you into slavery, he was glad to put some distance between us." Bescardi looked at the ground. _Count! Breathe! One…two…three…Keep calm. Think of the lab. Of readings. Of results. Of honors. _That did it, her mind was back on track and sudden inspiration hit her about how to explain anything _disturbing_ the test subjects might pick up from her.

"I'll confess, Dr. Reid, being around someone who so openly dislikes me is…difficult." Looking up, Bescardi saw the sympathy in both pairs of eyes observing her. _Of course! These two have ample experience being on the outside of social circles. All their lives they've been freakish. Oddities. Shunned._ She took a deep breath and released it slowly, knowing her audience would interpret it through the lens of their own lives. They'd see a woman dealing with rejection and hostility; not someone tamping down her emotions, trying to mask any visual images of the past hour.

"I know how sensitive people like you are." She congratulated herself on recalling Hotch's insistence on the term 'people' as opposed to 'creatures.'

"So I apologize if any friction between myself and Mr. Hotchner is bleeding over and coloring your impressions." She studied the floor again, knowing it made her look dejected, hoping her tactics were enough to fool these two who, no matter how talented they might be, were still very inexperienced both in life and in the use of their abilities. _Particularly the male. His acquisition of ESP is sudden and recent. The female has had her talents all her life. But she's a mere empath. Somewhat precognitive, but if she hasn't seen anything concerning Hotchner yet, what I've done to him is already in the past. I'm safe from her._

Reid still didn't seem entirely convinced. Bescardi stepped back and gestured in the direction of the driveway. "See for yourself, Dr. Reid. Mr. Hotchner took the car. He asked me to tell you he'd be back by the end of the day."

Reid took a few steps, but slowed as he passed close to the doctor. He felt confusing, conflicting emotions. Anxiety, worry, dismay, enthusiasm, but mostly a wild, leaping hope. He shook his head and continued toward the outdoors. As he walked he reflected that there were so many possible causes attendant on what Dr. Bescardi was feeling, it was impossible for him to sort them out. When he came to the main door and saw the car they'd rented was missing, Reid sighed. He really couldn't imagine the petite doctor doing any bodily harm to his boss. At last he turned back to see both women watching him.

He realized Ana didn't have the same gifts he did, but she'd said something about seeing Hotch in the woods. So at the very least, Hotch and the car were together and he was at some point going to enjoy a walk in the woods. Reid still had an odd feeling about the whole situation. He wondered why the Unit Chief hadn't come in to tell them his plans himself. But he was also aware of the antipathy between the agent and the doctor. Maybe Hotch _did_ just want to get away.

Reid gave a small, frustrated growl. The best thing he could do for everyone involved was to learn more about himself; how to harness, use, and interpret his abilities and the information they gathered.

And when push came to shove, he couldn't see Bescardi winning a physical altercation with Hotch. Something wasn't right, but he needed more to go on. And he _had_ vowed to give the doctor the benefit of the doubt.

_Time to live up to my best intentions_.

Reid couldn't shed his concern enough to mirror Bescardi's enthusiasm. When he returned to the doctor worry was still evident on his face. He felt the same way he did when the team was on a case and needed just one more victim to set a pattern, enabling them to solve it. Even if you knew something bad might be happening, you had to wait. _**If**__ anything bad is happening_, he reminded himself. And the best way to get through the waiting period was to keep busy.

"Okay, Dr. Bescardi. Let's get started. What do you want to do first?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

Hotch's body exhausted itself trying to find balance that didn't exist.

After a few hours of thrashing, a poor night's sleep, and no food since the previous day, Bescardi's designer drug took its toll. He lay unconscious in the undergrowth, blood oozing from his cuts while his knee purpled and swelled.

When he woke up, it was mid-afternoon. The sun beat down, making the day much hotter than he'd expected at this elevation. Insects were swarming on him, trying to feed from the cuts he'd suffered in his fall. For a moment, he couldn't make any sense out of his situation. He stared at the sky and gradually remembered sleeping on a stone floor the night before. He recalled telling Reid and Ana to quiet down. He remembered something about a wolf that had made him smile.

But that was all.

He rolled over and looked at the sky. It was fine and blue and clear. He tried to lift his head and a wave of dizziness slammed him back down. That opened the floodgates. He realized he was sore, bruised, covered with stinging lacerations and underneath it all, like a baseline of drumbeats was the throbbing in his right knee.

And he was terribly thirsty.

And it was so quiet. The quiet of the wilderness, where what sounds could be heard, had nothing to do with humankind.

_I'm alone. And I don't know why_.

He was supposed to be overseeing the retreat for Reid and his new friend, Ana. He had to get back. They needed him. He had no idea why he would have deserted them and a wave of shame rolled through him at the thought that he had abandoned his responsibility to his friends.

Hotch rolled onto his side and realized he was at the bottom of a small ravine. He moved his head, risking the vertigo and nausea again. He could just see part of the side of the car they'd rented yesterday peeking over the edge of the slope down which he'd fallen.

_Yesterday? You sure about that?_

He made a conscious decision to believe in yesterday. If he'd been here longer, it was too much to wrap his jittery brain around.

He could see which way the car was facing and, since he couldn't remember having been anywhere, his injured, fractured logic told him the car must be headed away from the monastery. He must have been driving away for some reason. So he knew which direction he should go for the closest help. Back the way he'd come.

He had no way of knowing Bescardi had turned the car around.

Hotch fought the pain and started to crawl in the direction he thought would bring him back to Reid, Ana and help. Every few yards he lost the battle and dizziness knocked him to the ground, but Hotch was a fighter. Bescardi had been right in thinking he wasn't the type to give up.

Every time he was slammed down, he struggled back to his hands and one functional knee, and did his best to move along the bottom of the ravine.

Hoping to reach a spot where he could drag himself up to road level.

Heading in the exact wrong direction, thanks to Bescardi's turning the car back towards the monastery before she left him.


	38. Nightfall

"So…how d'ya wanna do this?"

Rossi had checked out one of the Bureau's SUVs, knowing they might be driving over some rough terrain. He still wasn't sure about the wisdom of crashing the retreat. Carol Bescardi would be unhappy to say the least. _More like furious, if the whole point was to escape ordinary, untalented people like us_. But he'd rarely seen Morgan so insistent.

"Let's just drive 'til we get there, okay?"

Rossi turned to the side and took a long look at his traveling companion.

"You do realize it's at least a seventeen hour drive, right? And then we have to find the place. And GPS doesn't always work out there."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll spell you. When you want me to drive, just pull over, okay? We'll find them." Morgan couldn't seem to get comfortable in his seat. Having decided to go in search of Reid, Hotch and Ana, he was impatient to get moving.

"Relax, Derek. It's a Saturday. Light traffic. We'll make good time."

Morgan's only response was an unintelligible grumble which Rossi chose to ignore. He wasn't looking forward to being cooped up for hours with this bundle of ill-tempered anxiety beside him. It would be best to find Morgan something useful to do.

"Why don't you call J.J. and let her know what we're doing?"

"I will. But I'm gonna wait until we're on the road and she can't stop us. Or ask to go with us. Or tell anyone else who might want us to wait for them. Like Prentiss. Or Garcia."

Rossi sighed and resigned himself to the long trip. As they entered the light stream of traffic headed north, something occurred to him and he brightened.

"There's a place about an hour from here that makes great pie. Lemon merengue is their specialty."

Morgan shot him a look that erased all hope of pie. Reaching into his go-bag, Morgan pulled out a handful of vending machine snacks. As the assorted candy bars and bags of stale chips slid through his fingers, mounding on the dashboard, he delivered his verdict concerning meals.

"No stopping, Rossi. We eat on the road."

The older agent winced at the idea of Doritos with a Hershey bar chaser. Washed down with Pepsi. Probably diet. Probably decaf.

"Well…maybe on the way back?"

Morgan responded by tossing a KitKat bar into Rossi's lap.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx x

As Hotch unknowingly made his slow, painful way deeper into the wilderness, he considered his attire.

A suit was a fine and wonderful thing. If your physical activity was minimal. If you were someplace mild and temperate. But when every twig and bramble snagged it, and the sun and exertion combined to turn a lined, wool jacket into a furnace, then a suit became an instrument of torture. As soon as he could do so without a wave of vertigo felling him, he struggled out of his jacket and tied it around his waist. He was more comfortable temperature-wise, but pushing through bracken and falling repeatedly shredded his shirt, leaving his skin prey to sun, insects, cuts, and abrasions.

Several times when he let himself rest, he tested phone reception. Nothing. He finally gave up trying. The day was growing old and he wanted to reach shelter before that deep, solid blackness that characterized the night out here, overtook him.

Hotch finally reached a spot where the incline was less dramatic. He took several deep breaths, readying himself for the waves of light-headed nausea he'd come to expect. It wasn't so bad. He decided he must be recovering. He didn't know exactly what he was recovering _from_, but when he pulled himself over the edge of the slight cliff and lay panting on the ground, he sent heartfelt thanks to whatever power might be looking out for lost, injured FBI agents. He was sure Rossi, with his Catholic background, could supply him with a saint or two. He'd have to remember to ask him when he was back in Quantico.

But when Hotch caught his breath and raised his still-dizzy head, anticipating he'd be on the road leading to the monastery, his expectation of seeing Rossi or Quantico ever again, diminished to a fragile, uncertain hope.

There was no road. He'd been crawling along the ravine, thinking it ran parallel to the route that would lead him back. Somewhere along the line, the road had either ended or diverged. Hotch looked around and saw nothing that would help him direction-wise. The wisest thing he could think to do was to retrace his steps. If he walked back along the rim of the incline, he should intersect with the road.

_I'm not lost. I'm not. There's a direction I can take. I'm not lost._

But when he looked up at the sky visible beyond the tops of towering, massive trees, he gave a small, private whimper. Night was falling fast. Even if he could stand upright and run, he'd never reach shelter before dark. He dragged a regretful hand across the remnants of his shirt and wondered just how cold it would get.

Gritting his teeth, Hotch tried to stand. His balance wasn't good enough. _Yet_, he told himself. _I'm getting better. And I'm __**not**__ lost. I'm not._ He fell back to the ground and continued the limping crawl that made slow progress, but spared his injured knee and spinning head as much as possible.

_**Not**__ lost. __**Not**_.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxx

Reid and Ana were exhausted. Mentally, emotionally wrung dry.

Dr. Bescardi had explained that she wanted to cover as much ground as possible during their limited time away from the distractions of civilization. The tests she administered were similar to those they'd taken at her clinic in New York. She was comparing the results and, judging by her delight, it apparently _did_ make a difference to isolate psychics from the ambient mental noise of the general public.

Reid hadn't had much opportunity to talk to Ana during the day. They were sequestered in separate rooms, except for a few trials where Bescardi encouraged them to communicate telepathically. He didn't know if the doctor was bombarding Ana with the same messages she kept aiming at him. Bescardi took every chance available to pound home her theories about the lamentable history of persecution 'gifted' people suffered. She was pushing for some kind of commitment to jump on whatever agenda she subscribed to. Reid found the constant propaganda almost as draining as the tests.

When it was clear neither of her subjects could continue without rest and some nourishment, Bescardi reluctantly called it a day. She wanted to gloat over her data, but realized she should throw something together for everyone to eat. As she emerged from the room she'd set up as her personal office, Reid waylaid her on the way to the kitchen.

"Did Hotch come back?"

She'd forgotten all about her plans to 'find' the agent in a condition that would require medical aid, effectively removing him from the premises for the rest of the weekend. Bescardi glanced toward a window. It was already dark. There was no way she'd be able to find Hotchner's car until daylight. Night was so complete here, that flashlights were like fireflies trying to illuminate outer space. She swallowed. She really hadn't meant to leave the agent out all night. _But by now he's probably climbed back up to the car. He'll be able to stay there for one night. And when we 'find' him tomorrow, it'll make sending him away just that much more necessary, believable._ In an instant, Bescardi's concern vanished.

Reid caught the doctor's burst of anxiety. It was short lived, but strong. His eyes widened.

"He's not here!? You haven't seen him?"

Bescardi did her best to continue the charade. "I'm sure your Mr. Hotchner is fine. He probably just lost track of time and didn't want to chance driving back in the dark."

Reid's face hardened. He didn't need to speak. His disgust at her lack of concern was evident. He ran to the main entrance and went as far into the darkness as he dared.

"Hotch! HOTCH!" Reid called into the night and listened for any response, but he knew it was useless. When he turned back, Ana and Bescardi were watching him. The doctor spoke in a tone that begged him to be reasonable.

"Dr. Reid, there's nothing we can do tonight. But I _promise_, as soon as it's light, we'll go looking for Mr. Hotchner, if it'll make you feel better." She watched Reid brush past her. "But I'm sure he's alright."

Ana was staring at her in a most disconcerting way. _Damn empath must have picked something up._

Before Bescardi could continue, Reid stopped and rounded on her. "Here's the thing, Dr. Bescardi. All day you've been putting out feelers and making little digs, trying to get me to sign on with whatever program you're developing." Reid shook his head and gave an incredulous, little snort. "You know, I might've. I might've bought whatever you're selling. But if you went into your lab and whipped up the most effective repellant you could devise, it wouldn't be half as powerful as the lack of concern you show for the rest of humanity." Reid grabbed Ana's hand and pulled her after him in the direction of their sleeping quarters. "Tomorrow morning we're looking for Hotch. When we find him, we're out of here."

Just before turning a corner in the echoing, stone corridor, he delivered his parting shot. "You talk about how _endangered_ people like Ana and me are because of others' ignorance and fear? Let me tell you the _real_ danger to mankind. It's people like you, Doctor. People who don't know the value of life. Decent, honest, _ungifted_ Aaron Hotchner has done more good in this world and is worth more than a whole battalion of assholes like you."

Bescardi remained silent, watching the research opportunity of a lifetime turn the corner and disappear from sight.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxx

As the sun set, Hotch accepted he'd never find shelter for the night.

He shivered as the temperature dropped a dramatic forty degrees and wrapped his tattered jacket over his ragged shirt. He braced his back against a tree trunk and pulled his good knee up, trying to take advantage of his own body heat. The injured knee was too stiff and swollen to bend anymore.

He told himself he wasn't thirsty. And he wasn't scared. And he'd be fine.

But sometimes Hotch knew when he was lying to himself.

He rested his forehead against his one bent knee and wondered how this had happened. He couldn't remember. If he was going to die of exposure or dehydration or hypothermia, he'd like to know why. He closed his eyes and realized the darkness was so thick, it looked the same as when they were open. He thought about his son and the people he loved…mostly his teammates. He recalled someone telling him that the most frightening thing is the unknown. He didn't want his fate to be a mystery. He didn't want Jack to never know for sure if his father was dead or alive. It he died, lost in these woods, he would become part of the unknown.

Hotch gave a miserable, little whine.

_Somebody find me. Please. Somebody find me. Even if it's too late. Even if I'm dead. Find me._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxx

In the dark silence of the monastery, Reid and Ana took comfort lying close together in their cell, wrapped in each other's arms. They had talked quietly for a time. Reid mentioned how his brain had felt stretched, like an exercised muscle after his first bout of testing back in New York. He felt it again today. Like something getting stronger from use. Ana agreed. She'd felt it, too. They talked about Hotch and made plans to find him. Eventually, they drifted into uneasy sleep.

…_find me. Please. Somebody…_

Reid's eyes flew open.

It was Hotch's voice.

He looked around frantically, but nothing disturbed the silence. But it _was _Hotch's voice. Then he realized. It was inside his head.


	39. Glass Unicorn

When Reid 'heard' Hotch's voice, he roused a confounded Ana and insisted on going out into the night again. To avoid getting separated he had Ana follow him as he traversed the perimeter of the building. Even with a flashlight, he kept one hand on the exterior wall, using it as a guide and an anchor to keep from being swallowed by the darkness. But despite screaming Hotch's name as loudly as they could, there was no answer.

Finally, Reid admitted defeat and they went inside to wait for dawn. The young doctor spent the rest of the night 'listening.'

Before the sun had fully risen, Reid and Ana had packed their bags, as well as Hotch's.

"How are we supposed to get out of here, if _she_ doesn't drive us?" Ana could feel Spencer's anger overlaying a deep, guilty self-loathing for having trusted Dr. Bescardi. It worried her. She loved his trusting nature. But she knew that such people could become jaded cynics if that trust was abused too often. The quiet discussions they'd had in their brief relationship led her to believe that Spencer had already suffered more than his share of broken promises and cruel hoaxes.

Ana had loved to read plays when she was in high school. In a private corner of her mind, when she thought of Spencer, she was reminded of 'The Glass Menagerie.' She was a misfit herself and he was her glass unicorn, bringing something beautiful and fragile into her life.

She didn't want him broken.

"_She's_ not driving us anywhere. If I have to, I'll take the keys to her van away from her and we'll use that to get out of here." Reid took a last look around to make sure they'd left nothing behind. "But I _know_ I heard Hotch last night. And yesterday you had that vision of him in the woods. I wanna look for him, but our best bet might be getting to the closest town and putting together a search team or something." He'd been talking in a rapid, staccato way. It was speech propelled by pure frustration.

They were leaving their cell, about to go in search of Bescardi when Reid shocked Ana by dropping his go-bag on the floor and slamming the flat of his hand against the stone wall with a resounding _smack_. "Damn it, Ana! I don't know enough about myself anymore to be useful!" When he turned to look at her, his eyes were full. "We came here because we need to learn. _She_ was supposed to help us. I knew her priorities were screwed up, but I don't know anyone else who can teach me what I need to know."

He rubbed at his eyes. "And I still don't see how she could have done anything to Hotch. But I know he's in trouble. Something happened. Maybe she's got nothing to do with it, but she doesn't even care! How can someone, especially a doctor, be so _lacking_ in compassion?"

Ana put her own bag down and hugged her friend. "Spencer, she's not here to help us. She's here to study us. And, sure, we'd learn stuff along the way, but…" She drew back so he could see the earnest light in her alpine eyes. "…I think the best way to learn about what we can do and where it might lead, is from each other. And others like us, if we can find them."

Reid gave her a sad smile. "If there were others like us, we wouldn't be the only ones here. It's just us, Ana."

"We don't know that for sure. Maybe we just have to find them." _Maybe there's a whole menagerie of glass animals like us._

Reid nodded and picked up his bag again. "First, let's find Hotch."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

Morgan made good on his pledge to drive nonstop until they found the location of the psychic retreat.

After Rossi had driven several hours, he put forth the tentative suggestion that they find lodgings for the night. Morgan told him to pull over and switch places.

When Rossi pointed out signs for diners, Morgan responded by tossing chips and candy at him.

Finally, Rossi accepted that the only stops they'd be making were for gas and bathroom breaks. But he had to admit, they did make good time. By the following morning, they were in the last outpost of civilization, asking directions to the abandoned monastery three hours' drive to the northeast.

As Reid was searching for Dr. Bescardi, Rossi and Morgan were on the last leg of their trip.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xx

Dr. Bescardi was devastated.

She'd stayed awake all night. At one point she heard her test subjects calling Aaron Hotchner's name into the woods. She didn't bother to check on them. She wasn't worried. No one could find their way in the total darkness either to or from the monastery. She'd worry when morning came.

She placed her hands flat on the pile of hardcopy she'd printed out and bowed her head in mourning. It contained all the data from the first day of testing. Particularly interesting had been the blood samples she'd taken. She would need better lab facilities to thoroughly analyze them, but what little she could do on her own showed a change in chemistry. There was still much to be done, but tantalizing possibilities arced and jetted through her mind like fireworks.

_If their blood changes when they're using their gifts, their abilities might be the result of peculiar chemical combinations. It could be replicated. What would a transfusion from one of them do to a normal person? What would happen if individual factors were isolated? Could I increase their abilities by rebalancing the components of their blood? Could I transform someone ordinary into someone gifted in the same fashion?_

She envisioned publication after publication. Magazine covers. Television specials devoted to her. A Nobel prize. A lifetime of adulation.

She had _over_estimated Dr. Reid. She had thought his native intelligence would go hand-in-hand with an elevated sense of purpose. But he was rebelling. He placed more value on a drone like his boss, than on steering the course of humanity. Improving humanity.

She couldn't understand such short-sightedness.

And she couldn't let her subjects just walk away. Not when the implications of what she'd already found in such a short time were so astounding.

They hadn't left yet. There was still time to change their minds.

Dawn was staining the sky through the window with touches of pink and gray. Bescardi decided she'd try logic first; presenting her case with the added validation of such significant test findings. If that didn't work, she'd have to resort to more forceful means.

She glanced toward the kitchen where more of the drug she'd dosed Hotchner with waited. Since blood chemistry was the most fascinating find so far, she couldn't risk doing anything chemical to Dr. Reid. Bescardi sighed.

It would be a shame to lose the girl as a test subject, but sometimes the noble cause of science demanded sacrifices. If her prime subject didn't listen to reason, she would have no choice. Dr. Bescardi caressed the stack of data before her.

Science could be a harsh mistress.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Hotch opened his eyes and realized he'd fallen onto his side.

He pushed himself to a sitting position. There was good news and bad news. He still felt dizzy, but it wasn't the reeling, sickening kind that had felled him yesterday. But his injured knee had worsened during the night. Inactivity and freezing cold contributed to immobilizing the joint.

His teeth were chattering and he couldn't stop shivering. It was more than mere shivering; he was _quaking_ from the cold. He tried to lever himself upright and found the quaking bordered on convulsing. It hampered his movements almost as much as the painful knee.

Still, he _could_ stand upright, albeit with the help of a tree trunk at his back, and he could resist the falling sensation. But thirst and hunger were steadfast companions.

The worst part of the situation was that he couldn't remember which direction he'd been going. He'd kept crawling until full dark and somewhere along the way, he'd veered away from the ravine that had been his guide for retracing his steps. He finally had to admit he was lost.

He was directionless, but not hopeless._ I need to keep moving, even if I don't know where to go, I need to keep moving._

Hotch began the laborious process of pulling himself from tree to tree, staggering in what he hoped was a straight line. Strangely enough, he didn't feel as alone as he had. He couldn't explain it, but it felt…comforting, like a pinpoint of warmth somewhere deep inside.

He felt a little giddy and smiled as he limped along, wondering if he was becoming delirious from dehydration. Reid had said something to him a while back about having a gifted soul, as opposed to the young doctor's own gifts, located in his brain. The warm spot that made him feel less alone felt very centered…and very strange. As though an invisible hand was resting on him…in him…keeping him warm and hopeful. He was too tired to analyze it further.

_Maybe it __**is**__ something in my soul. Maybe Reid was right. _Hotch sighed and concentrated on trying to walk without wrenching his knee or losing his balance.

_I just wish someone would find me. Or I could stop and let go. That sounds good, too…_


	40. Push Comes to Shove

The hunt for Dr. Bescardi was fueled by a desperate sense of urgency.

The monastery was huge, but only a small portion of the space had been utilized. Carrying their own bags, as well as Hotch's, Reid and Ana checked the rooms that the doctor had used as an office, and those she'd used for testing. They made a quick run through the cells until they found what must have been her sleeping space, judging by the mussed bedding and luggage stowed in a corner.

At each location, Reid searched with the professional precision of a crime scene investigator. He was looking for the keys to Bescardi's van. And his concern overrode any tendency toward neatness. Whenever the doctor returned, she would find Reid's handiwork in tossed blankets, and opened drawers and containers whose contents were spilled across the floor.

He had no success. There were no keys.

Their last stop was the refectory and kitchen area.

Dr. Bescardi was waiting for them.

The young couple stopped abruptly on sighting her. Reid shook his head in stunned disbelief. The woman had set the table as though this were just another routine morning. She stood in the kitchen doorway, disheveled, but calm. Eerily so.

Reid and Ana exchanged looks. What Reid gleaned from a profiler's assessment, Ana felt in disconcerting, emotional waves. Both could almost smell the stench of fanaticism. They approached her with caution.

"Give me the keys to the van." Reid's voice was coarse with anger and urgency.

Bescardi blinked, taking a moment to compose her response. "Dr. Reid…Ana…I spent last night tabulating your test results. Aren't you curious to know my findings? Don't you want to know what…"

"All _I_ want to know is where the keys are." Reid's interruption seemed to go completely unnoticed.

"…what the significance is? Dr. Reid, we are on the threshold of creating that brave, new world that the common man fears, but the visionary knows is the next step on the evolutionary ladder. Please, just look at what I've found…_we've_ found…and then consider how much more we could do!"

Reid was about to reply when Ana placed a restraining hand on his arm. He looked down at her.

She spoke quietly, but he heard fear beneath her tone. "Spencer, she's not going to let us go. Don't you feel it?"

All Reid felt was the near-frantic desire to go in search of Hotch. Thoughts raced through him at a fevered pace. He needed to focus. Or…maybe he needed to use the _dis_advantages of his situation to increase the _advantages_.

_My skills strengthen when I'm tired and scared. We hardly slept last night and God knows I'm scared for Hotch. And…after the workout I got yesterday, my abilities __**do**__ feel stronger._

Reid recalled the surge of information when he'd touched the man who'd murdered Ana's sister. He knew he needed to touch Bescardi. _And this time I can't wait. I was a coward in California and it cost Sarah her life. Can't, can't…__**won't**__ let that happen to Hotch. Not this time._

Bescardi saw a shift in Reid's expression. But it wasn't one she'd hoped for. It didn't echo her commitment, her passion. It looked like…resolve to do something dreaded. It was the look of someone forcing himself to overcome his own limitations. She might have admired it, if she hadn't remembered their first meeting when the young doctor had told her about his psychic experiences. He was psychometric. He could read events by touching objects. When he took a step toward her, she was sure of it. _He wants to touch me!_

For every step Reid advanced, Bescardi retreated. She maneuvered a table between them and it was clear this would turn into a game of keep-away. For Hotch's sake, Reid couldn't let this continue. But neither could he reach her.

Ana moved to the side, watching the opponents face off, feeling anxiety and fear ramping up from both. After yesterdays' extended testing, she had felt the same stretching, strengthening sensation of her talents as had Reid. The emotions assaulting her had never seemed so strong. They were almost disabling.

"Dr. Bescardi, please…just give me the keys to your van."

"No." A sly look came into her eyes. "I'll make you a deal, Dr. Reid. You and Ana have a cup of coffee with me and let me try to change your mind about leaving. If you don't see things my way after coffee, then I'll give you the keys. But we must sit down like civilized beings and discuss this."

Reid glanced at Ana and caught the slight, but emphatic, shake of her head. He lunged, but again, Bescardi evaded.

Reid spoke through gritted teeth. "Doctor, I'm warning you. I was raised never to hit a woman. But…"

Bescardi smirked.

Ana felt the doctor's disgust…_contempt_…for the constraints of Reid's upbringing…and for all the courtesies and considerations that enabled decent, ordinary, _ungifted_ people to co-exist with respect and trust. All the intrinsic qualities Reid possessed that made Ana smile and made her treasure his company were being insulted with that one smirk. The ugly emotion behind it cascaded over her sharpened empathic senses. For Ana that was the last straw.

_It's people like her who shatter glass unicorns._

While the two doctors were focused on each other, Ana slipped to one side and edged into Bescardi's blind spot.

Reid heard Ana's growl an instant before she pounced.

"No one raised _me_ not to hit."

Reid thought he'd never seen a more beautiful right hook in his life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

The day was only a few hours old, but Hotch was weakening fast. It wasn't just the lack of food and water. Or the residual dizziness. It was the lurching, labored way in which he had to move forward. His right knee was locked. Any attempt to bend it, any time he jarred it, pain would shoot through his body all the way up to his hip. The effort expended in this tortured gait was draining what little reserves he had.

And for all he knew, he was headed deeper into the forest.

He'd stopped thinking about anything in particular. All his concentration went toward finding shrubbery and trees to hold onto, so he could pull himself along. His only criterion was that they lead in a rough approximation of a straight line. He didn't want to find out that he'd been traveling in circles.

It would just be such a sad, futile way to die.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

As soon as Bescardi dropped, felled by Ana's attack, Reid was at her side. She was dazed, blinking and holding one hand to a rapidly swelling jaw. Any hesitation Reid might have felt about subjecting himself to a mental journey through the doctor's twisted mind evaporated when he saw what had fallen out of Bescardi's pocket when she hit the ground.

He recognized Hotch's key ring. And the key to the car they'd rented. The car she'd claimed Hotch had taken.

Reid grabbed the doctor with both hands and surrendered himself to his own powers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bescardi's mind was an unsettling place. If it had been a house, there would have been nothing to provide rest or nourishment. Guests would have been unwelcome. It was uncomfortable with sharp edges and odd places so bright it hurt to look at them.

Reid marveled at the differences between Bescardi and the killer, Arthur Brandenhoff. Both were frightening and alien-esque, but Brandenhoff's mind had been diseased. Bescardi's was twisted and contorted. For a moment Reid wistfully recalled touching Hotch's mind. It had been gentle, well-ordered, yet still remarkable. A soothing oasis compared to where he found himself now.

As soon as he thought of Hotch, Reid sensed where Bescardi kept him hidden in her thoughts. Yet finding him was a tortuous process. Knowledge of the Unit Chief was hidden deep within crevices that were reluctant to give up their contents. Reid pushed. He hammered. Finally, he followed Ana's example and attacked.

He battered himself against Bescardi's resistance. Reid began to see…something.

But it was too hard. He didn't know how. Reid gave a mental sob; there was no one to teach him, to show him how to break open Bescardi's guarded secrets.

He couldn't do it alone.

He cringed.

_Hotch, I'm sorry. I was too cowardly to save Sarah. I'm too weak to save you._

_Forgive me, Hotch…_


	41. In a Strange Land

Ana crouched beside Reid.

Bescardi seemed frozen in shock, her eyes staring; fixed and sightless. Reid's head was bowed. Judging by his whitened knuckles, his grip on the doctor must have been painful. Ana extended her own senses. She felt nothing. A blank. She blinked. That had never happened before. It scared her. Especially where Spencer was concerned; she always felt so much around him and from him. _He's completely absorbed in her._

She recalled Spencer telling her in halting, painful sentences about his search for her little sister, Sarah. She knew he hadn't told her everything, but she hadn't pushed. She respected his right to privacy and she acknowledged the kindness that made him edit things he thought would only hurt or burden her. But she also remembered how he'd been lost in the nightmare landscape of a serial killer's mind. His friend, Hotch, had brought him back. As he'd told the story, Ana had marveled at the courage and insight it must have taken for Hotch to pursue Spencer into the unknown. But as she watched him now, and couldn't feel him in her empathic way, she understood the true reality of the matter.

Hotch hadn't thought about courage and insight. It had been a simple matter of love.

She covered Spencer's hands with her own and whispered what she hoped would be a recurring theme throughout their lives…_Where you go, I go, too_.

And then,…she did.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was wrestling with the half-formed images wedged in the tortured recesses of Bescardi's mind. It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull them forward where he hoped to see them clearly. Time lost all meaning and he began to feel himself weaken as uncertainty and fear encroached on him. It was like being overtaken by shadows, but these shadows had weight and a peculiar suffocating, sapping quality.

Reid really hated Bescardi's mind.

He thought the unbearably bright spots that blazed at random corners might be intellect or inspiration. She was indeed a brilliant scientist. But the convolutions and inhospitable atmosphere had a sort of debasing effect, rendering her intellect worthless. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like if someone could do a thorough housecleaning in here…wherever 'here' was…and allow the brilliance to become the dominant feature. When he realized that kind of rearranging and customization was probably what Bescardi had been hoping to perform on him and Ana on a genetic level, he became even more desperate to finish and escape. He thought he might have entertained thoughts about 'improving' a human mind, because Bescardi's values and ambitions were starting to affect him.

_More like __**infect.**_He shuddered.

But it was so hard. What he 'saw' of Hotch kept slipping away. Reid realized he might have to abandon the search to keep from being damaged by the force of Bescardi's warped psyche. A frisson of panic rippled through him. He couldn't leave without knowing Hotch's fate.

And then something soft and warm cuddled up next to him, and…

_Where you go, I go, too…_

_Ana?_

_Yes._

_How?_

_Don't know._

Reid felt her strength, and her astonishment at finding herself beside him, and all the beautiful things he was just beginning to discover about her slide into place. She _meshed_ with him. She increased him. Mentally, he smiled.

_Let's do this and go home._ He felt her presence…coalesce and grow warmer…in agreement.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Reid and Ana returned, only minutes had passed. Remembering his first experience in the mind of a stranger, Reid wasn't surprised when Ana's immediate reaction was to vomit. He was fighting down nausea himself, but he seemed to be getting better at what he privately termed 'reentry.' And finding his way out had been easy with Ana by his side.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry about that." She wiped at her mouth and edged away from the mess she'd made.

Reid grinned. "That's nothing. You should've seen me and Hotch ralphing in tandem the first time I did it."

He leaned over to check on Bescardi. Her eyes were closed now and her breathing was slow and shallow. She might have been asleep or in a coma. Reid found he didn't care which, as long as it kept her from interfering.

Ana grimaced and shook out her right hand. "She's got a really hard jaw."

Reid helped her up, taking hold of her fingers and touching his lips to her bruised knuckles in a very old-fashioned, courtly gesture. "You were great. Thanks for that. And for coming in to…help."

"That was so…I don't know. 'Weird' doesn't even _begin_ to describe it."

"Yeah. Probably best if we don't even try. For now, anyway." Reid picked up Hotch's key ring. "Ana, did you see the same things I saw…I mean, about Hotch?"

"She drugged him. And he fell over some cliff or something. That's all I got. You?"

"I got all that, but I could _feel_ it with him. I think I still do. A little." Reid's frustration peaked for a moment and he buried his face in his hands. "_God!_ I need to be able to figure this stuff out better!" He looked up. "Ana, I feel so useless. Helpless."

She took both his hands. "Are you sure that's what _you're_ feeling? Is it possible that's what _Hotch_ is feeling?"

The look on Reid's face made her want to laugh and hug and dance and do a hundred other joyful things. It was amazement, revelation, recognition and discovery all rolled into widened eyes and a jaw that hung open for a good thirty seconds before he recovered.

"Oh my God. Ana! That's _IT!_ I hardly ever lose my temper, but Hotch does! And he beats himself up when he thinks he's not doing his job right. He's not here! He's not chaperoning like he's supposed to! It's things like that that make him feel useless! That's _IT!_" His grin spread and she basked in his elation. But it collapsed almost as quickly as it had come. "He's alive, but…" Reid closed his eyes and Ana thought he must look the way she did when she was sending out her feelers to pick up psychic impressions. "…He's hurting. And he's lost. And…oh…no…no…no…" He turned toward Ana, but his eyes were still lidded. "…he doesn't think anyone's coming for him. He's thinking about giving up."

Ana stood close to Reid. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she whispered. "Don't let him, Spencer! Tell him!"

"Can I do that?"

"Try! We don't know _what_ we can do. _Try!_"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch had to rest. He leaned his back against a tree, keeping his weight off his injured leg, holding it at a stiff angle. He didn't feel much of anything anymore as far as thirst and hunger went. He supposed he'd gone past some critical point, and his body's natural defenses had clicked in, numbing the sensations. It might be a merciful prelude to death.

He wondered what the last moments would be like.

He'd heard that it could be very pleasant. Not just the white-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel thing, but an all-encompassing feeling of being accepted into a loving presence. Or seeing your friends and family who'd passed on before you.

He wondered if Haley was waiting for him and smiled. It faded when he remembered that he was supposed to be protecting Reid and Ana.

_I failed. I'm sorry, guys. In the end I've been pretty useless. Sorry_.

No sooner had he thought of Reid, than the peculiar, little glow of warmth he'd been carrying deep within…_flamed_. He didn't know how else to describe it. For a moment he wondered if he'd sustained some unseen injury and was bleeding internally. But it didn't hurt. It felt good. He ran his hand over his ribs, trying to pinpoint the location of the comforting heat. He gazed into the distance. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd pushed off from the tree and was moving again.

Something told him it wasn't quitting time. Not yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

"Well, it's about damn time." Rossi had taken the wheel at their last stop. After three hours of dust and rough roads that were more like trails, he and Morgan had finally arrived. There had been numerous opportunities for wrong turns. Other paths seemed to branch off of the main trail with disconcerting frequency.

"Those monks must've liked hiking," Morgan had observed at one point as they'd debated who or what had made so many of them.

"More like moose or caribou or deer."

"Or Bigfoot!" Morgan's grin had sparked an exchange of backcountry legends and lore. Both agents had been surprised by the wealth of tall tales they'd picked up over the course of their careers.

But seeing the hulking, ancient building, constructed of gray blocks of stone, was a gratifying relief. Neither man had relished the thought of being lost out here. Not even with an SUV and a week's supply of vending machine pop and snacks.

Less of a relief was the sight of Reid bursting out of the front door and loping toward the woods at the far side of the clearing. A girl neither agent recognized pelted after him, but stopped short, turning her head to stare at the parked SUV.

"_SPENCER! SPENCER, WAIT!_" Her scream made the young doctor stumble over his own feet before he could arrest his forward motion. When he looked back at her, she pointed at the new arrivals.

Rossi couldn't be sure, but he thought she said "They feel friendly."

_What an odd thing to say._

He had no idea how 'odd' things were about to get.


	42. Miles To Go Before I Sleep

Reid could have sobbed with relief at the sight of Morgan and Rossi descending from a Bureau SUV, but there wasn't time. He thought he'd fanned some sort of flame to burn a little brighter in Hotch, but he couldn't be sure of what he'd done, or what it meant, or how long the effects would last.

All he really knew was that Hotch's time was short. He thought he could find his boss, but he had to go _now_. Reid still felt responsible for losing Ana's little sister in California. He wasn't about to let the same thing happen again.

_Now_ was his whole world.

_Now _was all that mattered.

He turned, torn between wanting to run toward his teammates, and needing to go after Hotch. Morgan clued into Reid's sense of urgency and sprinted to meet him.

"What's up, kid? What's going on?"

"Hotch. Hurt. No time. That's Ana." Then Reid was off and running.

"_REID!_" Morgan shouted, breaking through the younger man's fixation on his mission to find their boss. Reid hesitated. Morgan gestured at the SUV. "Driving's faster, Pretty Boy! C'mon!"

Logic prevailed. Reid sped back toward the dusty, black vehicle.

Ana was closer and reached it first. She nodded at Rossi and was pulling herself up into the back seat when he grabbed her arm.

"Cliff Notes version, young lady?"

"Bescardi drugged Hotch. He's been out there…" she gestured toward the wilderness surrounding them "…since yesterday morning. We know he's hurt. Not much time left."

She made an abortive, little jump to enter the SUV, but Rossi restrained her again.

"Where's Bescardi?"

"Inside. Unconscious." She grimaced. "Better that way."

Rossi looked toward the silent monastery. For a moment he considered going in to check on the doctor. But only for a moment. Despite all his warnings and all the conditions placed on Reid's cooperation, Carol had clearly overstepped her bounds. It was possible she needed medical aid. She might be mortally injured. But Hotch came first. Rossi made the decision to leave the doctor to whatever fate her actions had created for her, and stay with the team.

Besides, if they didn't make it in time, if Hotch died, Rossi wanted a last chance to hold the man he considered his son in his arms. Even if he was already gone, Rossi had a feeling that Hotch's spirit would know his ersatz father was cradling him. He remembered his words to Reid when the young agent had been punishing himself for not being able to save Sarah in California.

_The chance to say 'goodbye' is no small thing._

Rossi wanted that chance.

At the same time, he dreaded it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid was driving, words pouring forth in a torrent. He had a way of trying to speak as quickly as his brain worked. It was impossible. Physical features necessary for speech…lips, a tongue, vocal chords…could never equal the scintillating speed of Spencer Reid's thoughts.

Normally, Morgan would silence his young partner with a sharp reprimand, bringing him back to the realization that he needed to slow down and organize himself; accept his physical limitations and the accommodations he'd have to make to communicate effectively. But this time, he let Reid's words tumble and rush. Words didn't matter. Morgan trusted they were headed toward Hotch, even if he didn't understand _how_ Reid could know the correct route to take. There were so many rugged paths leading away from the monastery, yet he'd shown no hesitation in choosing this one.

Sitting in the back with Rossi beside her, Ana was on a different kind of journey. In silence she observed Reid's intense concentration and focus, his single-minded pursuit.

_This is how he went after Sarah_. _This same headlong dash. A race against nature's clock…or maybe fate's. The dividing line between life and death is so narrow. From one minute to the next. Or one second to the next. He couldn't have done any more. It's just not humanly possible. There was never a chance for Sarah._

Rossi didn't know why Ana bowed her head and cried without making a sound, but he didn't interfere. He had a feeling there was a lot about this girl that would always defy his understanding.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When the car Hotch had rented came into view, both Morgan and Rossi shouted for Reid to stop. They needn't have bothered. The trail disappeared a few yards further on, giving way to nothing more than a footpath winding its way among the trees.

All four passengers piled out. A glance into the car verified its vacancy. At the top of the incline, they halted, looking at the swathe of crushed undergrowth that marked where Hotch had fallen. Reid started to make his way down the slope. Morgan threw his hands up in frustration and called after the sliding, stumbling doctor.

"He's not down there, kid!"

Reid kept going, half falling in his haste to reach the bottom.

"Reid! C'mon! Let's keep going!"

Rossi added his voice to the clamor. "Reid, we need to spread out and search! Reid!"

"Stop it." Ana's soft command, had a tone that made both men obey. At least for a few heartbeats of silence. But Morgan was born to challenge. And he didn't know this stranger who was giving orders.

"We don't have time for this. _Reid_ even said so!" He looked down to where the young agent was squatting and running his hands over the ground. "Well, I'm gonna go find Hotch." Morgan turned toward the trees that seemed to close ranks before him. "Rossi? You coming?"

"Wait a minute, Derek. I don't know what's going on here, but we need to give Reid a chance. This is his game; we're newcomers." He could hear Morgan's impatience in his movements as he strode to the end of the road, straining to be off and hunting for their leader.

What felt like a waste of time, in reality was less than three minutes. Reid clambered back up the slope, grasping the hand Rossi offered to help him scale the last few feet. He was breathing hard. Both older agents spoke simultaneously, peppering him with questions.

"What was that all about?," "Can we go now?," "Did you see anything down there?," "CAN WE GO NOW?"

"_QUIET!_" Reid's eyes were closed, the heels of his hands pressed against his forehead. "Stop talking at me! Please! Please. I need to listen."

Morgan and Rossi exchanged looks, but neither broke the silence again. Ana moved closer to Reid. After a moment, she closed her eyes, too, and leaned in, resting her head against his shoulder. As the others watched, Reid whispered, "Ana." He brought one hand down and encircled her with his arm, pulling her even closer. Both their faces went eerily still and blank. When Morgan began to fidget and was about to speak, Reid opened his eyes. Ana followed suit a split second later.

"_I see him!_" And Reid was off like a shot, dodging among the trees, running full out.

Morgan was close on his heels, looking frantically from side to side. "Where?! Kid, I don't see anything! Where is he?"

"Not far," Reid threw over his shoulder.

That was when Morgan realized the type of vision Reid was using to 'see' Hotch.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi knew he couldn't keep up with the frantic pace of the younger men. He dug out the standard first aid kit kept in all Bureau vehicles. Grabbing a couple of blankets, he handed them to Ana.

Together, they followed as quickly as they could. Rossi trusted the girl would be able to track Reid even if he wasn't visible. He had a growing suspicion that she shared the same kind of 'sight' that had located Hotch.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch had abandoned his one rule…that he try to travel in a straight line.

Somehow it didn't matter anymore. And it took too much effort. There were long pauses between his attempts to pull himself from one hand-hold to the next. He didn't understand why he couldn't just stop and rest. It would be so nice to lie down and close his eyes.

His mind was filled with strange lines of random poetry. One in particular recurred with tempting frequency.

_The woods are lovely, dark and deep,_

_ But I have promises to keep,_

_ And miles to go before I sleep._

It made him long to stretch out on the cool, pine-scented ground and…just…stop. He'd worked so hard all his life. He felt he'd earned the right to lie down and rest.

Movement was becoming more and more difficult.

And now he was hearing things. Hearing his name. He decided he must be hallucinating at last. He'd expected it, but hadn't known what form it would take.

As he turned to look toward the voices that his weary mind must be generating, he shook his head and spared himself a rueful smile.

_Of course. I should have known. Can't leave the office behind even out in the middle of nowhere. Haley was right. I'm obsessed with my job._

He marveled at how accurately his strained, exhausted brain could reproduce his teammates' voices. And the vision of them running toward him.

_So I'm having aural as well as visual illusions._

The last thing Hotch thought as he fell forward was how surprising it was to have tactile hallucinations as well. Didn't matter. Falling into the mirage of Derek Morgan's arms was one of the nicest feelings he'd ever had. He could rest now. The miles were behind him and he could sleep…just as the poem had promised.

It was as good a way to end as any.


	43. Calling Aaron Home

Rossi was right about Ana being able to follow Reid without actually seeing him. She led them unerringly to the spot where Morgan was holding Hotch in a clumsy hug.

Morgan had let Hotch's weight fall against him, one arm locked around the back of Hotch's waist. His other hand was supporting his boss' chin, shaking him, patting his face, trying to get his eyes to open. He could feel the shallow, feeble movements of the man's chest against his own. He was afraid that slight proof of life might stop at any moment.

Inwardly, he vowed he'd twist Bescardi's head off of her shoulders the first chance he got. Hotch was ragged. His clothing hung in tatters and the patches of pale skin that showed through were a collage of bruises and gashes. Dust and grime were ground into some of the wounds.

_It'll be a miracle if some of those cuts aren't already infected._

And there was something wrong with one leg. Morgan had reached Hotch at the moment he pitched forward, but he'd almost missed catching him. One knee refused to buckle. In its locked position, it had given his fall a sideways slant.

When Rossi arrived, he took hold of Hotch's shoulders from behind.

"Lay him down, Morgan. It's a long way to a hospital. We have to do what we can right now."

Once they had Hotch on the ground, Rossi folded a blanket beneath his head. He tore away what was left of the shredded jacket and shirt. When Morgan mentioned the leg injury, he used scissors from the first aid kit to slit Hotch's pants open from cuff to mid-thigh.

"Oh, man." Morgan pulled back the cloth, revealing a swollen, blackened knee that explained the leg's inability to bend.

"Check him." Rossi's command was terse, his voice rough with worry. Demonstrating the practiced efficiency of men who had seen too many disasters and watched too many survivors succumb at the last moment, both agents ran their hands over their fallen comrade's body. They felt for broken bones or ominous swellings that would indicate possible internal injuries.

Rossi was encouraged when the inspection didn't turn up any obvious, life-threatening problems. But he was deeply concerned that during all the poking and prodding and manipulating, Hotch hadn't stirred. He would dearly have loved to have heard a groan or any other sound that indicated absence, but not departure.

Still, the shallow movement of Hotch's chest continued.

"Sit him up." Rossi turned to the first aid kit which contained several packets of water beefed up with electrolytes and carbs. His eye fell on a vial of smelling salts and he sent up a fervent prayer of thanks to the Bureau for taking first aid to a higher level than the standard bandages, gauze and antibiotic ointment.

Morgan shifted, lifting Hotch's upper body and using himself as a prop to keep his friend in a sitting position. He reached around and placed a hand on Hotch's throat, tilting his head back, facilitating the process if Rossi wanted to try getting him to swallow.

Rossi snapped open the vial of salts first and wafted it under Hotch's nose. No reaction. He locked eyes with Morgan for an instant, then held the vial steady, almost touching the nostrils. Nothing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid and Ana had been staying out of the way, watching the battle to revive Hotch, or at least to distance him a little more from death. They had gravitated toward each other, seeking reassurance in a mutual embrace. When Hotch failed to respond, Ana felt Reid stiffen. She looked up at him.

"Spencer? What's going on with you?"

Reid was overwhelmed. Running through his mind, like a mantra of failure, endlessly looping…_Too late. Too late. Too late._ He looked down at the girl with her arms tight around him. She'd said something, but he couldn't hear past the horror of watching another life ebb away because he wasn't fast enough, strong enough, good enough. _Had_ she said something to him? "W-what?"

The look on her face morphed from concern to disbelief to anger. "Spencer! This is _not_ your fault! Don't you _dare_ give up before he has!"

"I…I'm…"

"Spencer! Last night when we were talking about him…you said Hotch _never_ gives up and…and you said he makes others believe they can do better than their best…" She was crying, from frustration and from thinking that a wonderful soul was slipping away. "…and you said he has such a big heart…"

_Heart!_ Reid snapped back to full awareness, staring at Ana and remembering how she psychically _meshed_ with him and augmented him. _And…how could I have forgotten?...I've touched Hotch…his heart, his mind, and, maybe even his spirit_. _If she's with me, I can find him…anywhere!_

"Come on." He pulled Ana along with him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi was getting desperate. He was about to try dribbling some water down Hotch's throat, hoping if he choked, it would spur him toward consciousness.

_Hell, I'll settle for groggy, semi-lucid. But, please, Aaron…please don't leave. I can't lose my boy, my son_.

When Reid pushed him aside, usurping his place next to the injured man, Rossi almost objected. But weird things had been happening around Reid for some time now. He couldn't pretend to understand, yet Carol Bescardi had believed in the boy's power and this girl had an aura, a strangeness about her that he couldn't explain.

And he wanted his Aaron back.

And nothing was working.

_And I was raised in the Catholic church…I'm lapsed, sure,… but still a spiritual man. I believe in good. I believe in evil. I believe miracles are possible. I'm not sure where it all comes from. Not anymore. So who's to say it can't come through these two kids?_

Rossi relinquished his place and, to Morgan's surprise, crossed himself and bowed his head, his lips moving in what the younger agent was sure was a prayer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Afterwards, Morgan could never explain what happened. Sometimes he thought he'd like to forget. He didn't like mysteries unless they were solvable, quantifiable…in short, _not_ mysterious at all.

When Reid knelt beside him and pulled Ana down, too. Morgan tightened his hold on Hotch. He released the man's throat and moved his hand down, pressing against Hotch's ribs, drawing him in closer. Protecting him from…what? _The unknown?_

He watched Reid search Hotch's face. In an eerie unspoken choreography, both Reid and Ana reached out and ran gentle fingers, tracing a path from Hotch's forehead, over his closed eyelids, down his lips and along the slim muscles of his neck, over his collarbones until they reached their final destination.

Morgan watched as both hands, his and hers, settled over Hotch's heart.

He would never speak of it. Never tell anyone. But he felt a current run through Hotch's body. He was sure the barely-moving chest…arched. And Morgan felt something…_pass_…through Hotch. As he held on to his boss, he thought he heard voices. Or maybe it was a chorus of chimes. He couldn't be sure. But it was sweet, and he would have followed it himself, if he had been somewhere dark and final, and had heard the call.

As it was, Morgan just squeezed his eyes shut and strengthened his grip on a man he loved and sincerely hoped would see tomorrow.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Hotch? Hotch! We're here. We're here to take you back._

_Tired._

_We know. But we won't leave without you._

_Tired. Hurt._

_Yes. Let us touch you and it won't be so bad._

_No._

_You have to._

_Why?_

_Love. Waiting for you. So much._

_No._

_Yes. Always around you. Let us touch you and you'll feel it._

_Weak._

_But loved. And what did Haley tell you about love?..._

'_S the mos' impor'nt thing._

_And it's yours. Just let us touch you._

_Tired._

_Loved._

_Hurt._

_LOVED._

_Weak._

_**LOVED**__._

_Rest. Please…let me._

_Jack._

_? _

_Jack needs you. Loves you._

_Not fair…using Jack…. Tired._

_You promised you'd teach Jack about love. You promised! It's your job and you haven't finished it. Hotch? __**HOTCH!**_

_Alright….'f won't let me rest…touch…me…for…Jack…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Rossi!" Morgan felt Hotch stir and realized he was holding him way too tightly. "Rossi!"

Rossi raised his head and for a moment believed that miracles did indeed happen.

And then he _knew_ they did.

Hotch's eyes were fluttering. He gave a weak cough and raised a hand to place over Reid's and Ana's, stacked on his chest.

Rossi watched three hands connect.

Right over Hotch's heart.

He reached out and added his own.


	44. Rossi's Return

After Rossi had coaxed some water into him, Morgan carried Hotch back to the SUV. He didn't question that Reid kept pace beside him, one hand resting on Hotch's chest. And he chose not to notice the way the young doctor kept a tight hold on Ana's hand. If there was some kind of otherworldly current passing between them, Morgan didn't want to know.

They stretched Hotch out on the back seat.

Reid and Ana folded themselves into the cramped floor space beside him. Every time Morgan looked in, one or the other had a hand on Hotch's chest. Over his heart.

Rossi packed away the first aid kit. He passed the blankets to Reid and watched as the young doctor spread them over Hotch. Rossi had debated giving the injured man some painkillers, but decided against it. Having fought so hard to bring him to semi-consciousness, he didn't want to sedate him in any way, shape, or form, until he was someplace where revival didn't depend on a couple of spooky kids.

_And they __**are**__ spooky. Alone…not so much. Together…undeniably weird. And powerful._

When they were ready to begin the long trip to civilization and proper medical care, Rossi stood next to the SUV's open passenger side door and stared at the abandoned rental car. He trusted the others to get Hotch to safety. And he didn't think his favorite Unit Chief would take a turn for the worse; not now that he was letting Reid give him small sips of the electrolyte-laden water. Even if he was limp and weary-looking, Hotch didn't seem in danger anymore.

And there was something Rossi needed to do.

And maybe it would be better if he did it alone.

Without witnesses.

He slammed the door shut. When Morgan frowned and asked him what he was doing, Rossi tried to appear nonchalant.

"I think I'll walk back and get the keys for the rental. Don't want Hotch to get charged anything extra for leaving it out here."

Reid looked up from his place on the rear seat floor. "I've got them. I took them from Dr. Bescardi before you guys got here."

At mention of the doctor's name, silence fell. Reid and Morgan could guess Rossi's real reason for wanting to stay behind. Ana wasn't sure; she didn't know him well enough. But one touch of Spencer's hand, one look into his concerned eyes, and she understood. Her empathic senses had picked up a strong surge of paternal love from Rossi when he'd been kneeling beside Hotch. She could imagine this seemingly mild man turning cold and lethal to anyone who threatened his chosen son.

"Here." Reid held out Hotch's key ring. Wordlessly, Rossi reached in through the window and took it.

"We'll see ya down there." Morgan started the engine and was about to begin the jockeying maneuver that would turn them in the direction they needed, when Rossi leaned in the window again.

"Reid?" The young agent looked up from where he'd been dripping more water between Hotch's lips. "You said Hotch was drugged. Any idea how?"

It was Ana who answered. "We saw him drinking coffee. He collapsed. Bescardi just watched."

"You saw her do it?"

Reid and Ana shared a glance before replying in unison. "You know…_'saw'_…her do it."

"Ah, I understand." Rossi's lips thinned to a grim line. He backed away and gave the roof of the SUV a slap. "Drive carefully, guys."

Morgan resumed turning the oversized vehicle around. "Damn."

Reid looked up again. "Something wrong, Morgan?"

"No." He sighed. "I just wish Rossi'd save some Bescardi for me."

"Maybe he will."

"Nah. I don't think so." With the SUV finally pointed in the right direction, Morgan began the long drive to the nearest town. He glanced over his shoulder at Hotch's caregivers. "So. You're Ana. I'm Derek Morgan. Good to meet you." He gave Reid a mischievous grin. "Welcome to the family, _Mrs. Reid_."

"MORGAN!"

Drowning in embarrassment and outrage, Reid didn't notice Ana's tiny, Mona Lisa smile. She'd had one of her precognitive flashes.

She rather thought Morgan was on the right track.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi watched the others out of sight before he unlocked the rental and slipped in behind the wheel. He drove back to the monastery and parked beside the van he assumed belonged to Bescardi.

Reid had been searching for its keys. Rossi didn't waste time on such niceties.

He picked up a sizeable rock and smashed the driver's window with one, anger-fueled blow. Reaching in, he popped the hood. Once he'd accessed the engine, Rossi gave vent to his fury. Partly to burn some of it off before confronting Bescardi herself. Partly to make her departure impossible. By the time he was finished, any mechanic worth his salt would have wept at the motor's massacre.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi sat at the table in the refectory.

Disconsolate.

Dejected.

Disillusioned.

Before her were the place settings she'd put out to welcome her test subjects to breakfast. But now the flatware and plates were covered with papers…the pages of results that had already been acquired. She'd spread them lovingly across the surface. It allowed her eye to fall on random sections of graphs and numbers. It allowed her to mourn her subjects' ignorance and short-sightedness.

By now they'd probably found the rental car she'd so considerately turned and pointed in the right direction for escape. They'd undoubtedly found Mr. Hotchner, none the worse for wear, dozing in the back seat, or, at worst, still at the bottom of the incline down which he'd so stupidly fallen. He would be disoriented and slightly amnesiac, as the remains of his overdose dissipated in his bloodstream.

His normal, unremarkable, mundane bloodstream.

Not like Dr. Reid's blood. Not like Ana's blood.

_Oh, God, I'm such a fool! _She buried her face in her hands. _I should have kept Hotchner here. I could have used him. I could have injected him with a distillation of Reid's or Ana's blood and studied the effects. And they wouldn't have run off if their precious, little, pet guard-dog was here. I'm such a fool!_

As she dropped her hands back to the table, her fingers brushed the swelling on her jaw. She winced. She hadn't expected the girl to be so aggressive. Empaths usually didn't inflict pain. They abhorred causing emotional or physical injury. It impacted their senses negatively. Dr. Bescardi considered it another barometer of her failure. She'd thought of Ana as a delicate, weak creature. Gifted, but not to the extent Dr. Reid was. She'd misjudged the girl's ability to lower herself to the vulgar level of physical assault.

She fingered her jaw and decided it would be a good idea to put some ice on it. Depression and regret made her feel heavy as she levered herself up from her seat.

But in the kitchen, Bescardi was sad and distracted, having to remind herself twice why she'd entered the room…why she'd opened the freezer. She was at the counter, wrapping ice cubes in a towel when she glanced out the low window fronting on the driveway. She froze when she saw the rental car partially obscuring the view of her van.

_They're back! They didn't leave!_ She clasped her hands beneath her chin and felt the giddy joy of being granted a second chance. _They DO understand how important this is!_ She dropped her hands and gripped the counter edge. _And if they don't, it doesn't matter. I won't let them get away again. Even if it means keeping __**all**__ of them drugged and cooperative, I won't let this opportunity slip through my fingers again._

Bescardi checked the pot of 'special' coffee she'd brewed in readiness that morning when she'd thought it might be necessary to dose the girl and use her as a bargaining chip to keep Reid, the prime subject, in line. She added another healthy splash of her designer drug to the pot. She wasn't so concerned about overdosing any more.

She brushed back her tousled hair and straightened her clothing as best she could. Ana's fist had packed quite a punch and Bescardi believed she had a right to look a tiny bit disheveled.

_It might even make them feel sorry for what they've done. _She smirked. _Maybe I can use that. Maybe I can play on that __**decency**__ that lurks just below the surface in these stupid creatures, raised to be nice and pleasant failures._

The thought that propelled Bescardi out the door to greet her guests and let them try to make amends to her for what they'd done, was that they didn't deserve the powers with which they'd been gifted. _She_ could have done so much more with them. She tamped down her bitter envy and smiled graciously as she entered the main foyer.

The smile fled from Dr. Bescardi's face.

"Hello, Carol." Rossi's voice sounded leaden,…dead.

Or perhaps just deadly.


	45. Rossi's Rampage

It took nearly four hours to reach civilization and the small hospital at the base of the mountain.

Morgan tried to spare Hotch as much of the rough road as possible, which meant taking the ruts and craters at a lesser speed. Throughout the journey, every time he looked in the rearview mirror, he saw a hand over Hotch's heart. He didn't know if Reid and Ana were keeping the injured man from slipping away again, or just keeping him company.

_Don't ask, don't tell._ Morgan steered conversation away from things supernatural, things paranormal, things-that-went-bump-in-the-night.

When he pulled into the ER entrance, he didn't wait for a rush of orderlies and technicians to unload Hotch. He scooped the man up as though he weighed no more than a child and was halfway through the automatic doors when two men in scrubs, wheeling a gurney, met him. Morgan laid his burden down with care. He was relieved and grateful when Hotch stirred and gave a deep sigh, settling onto the padded surface with the ghost of a smile.

"Thank you." It was so faint, only Morgan, who had been leaning over, his ear close to Hotch's lips, heard it.

"Any time, man," he whispered back, giving Hotch's arm a gentle squeeze before relinquishing his place and letting a host of medical personnel swarm his friend.

Morgan went to where Reid and Ana were huddled together. A frisson of worry ran through him at the sight of Ana burying her head in Reid's chest, her body tensed, almost trembling.

"Kid? She okay?"

Reid tore his eyes away from the sight of Hotch being examined. He glanced down and wrapped his arms more tightly around Ana. "Yeah…yeah, she's fine. It's just being here. She _feels_ things, ya know? From people? Hospitals are hard."

Morgan nodded and took a step away, hoping he wasn't contributing to the girl's discomfort. He hated hospitals, too.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"David! Hello! I didn't expect you." Dr. Bescardi's greeting was automatic, unthinking. She looked perplexed, straining to see around and beyond Rossi. "Where are the others? Dr. Reid and Ana…where are they?" When there was no response, she frowned. Her tone was almost scolding when she continued. "We have wasted almost an entire day! Dr. Reid owes me at least one more eight-hour session."

"He's gone, Carol. They're all gone. They're not coming back."

There was that leaden tone again. Bescardi appreciated lack of sentiment in all things, including speech, but there was something…forbidding…in Rossi's voice. It made her think of storm clouds gathering; of the poised moment between accumulation and unleashed devastation.

"Aren't you going to ask about Aaron Hotchner, Carol?"

"Mr. Hotchner? What about him?" She had a wary feeling. Something told her to step carefully, to stick to the story she'd told her test subjects.

"You left him to die. Aren't you curious to know if he did?"

Bescardi disliked emotion in others, but she herself was a quite creditable actress…when the need arose. She did her best shocked-and-offended imitation. "I did no such thing! How can you _say_ that!" She crossed her arms and raised a defiant chin, trying to take the upper hand and put this disturbing man on the defensive. "Mr. Hotchner went for a drive yesterday. He was _not_ specific about his schedule. When he didn't return by nightfall, we assumed he didn't want to drive back in the dark and risk getting lost."

Rossi wasn't responding correctly. In fact, he wasn't responding at all. Perhaps another angle would be more effective.

"But, David! You should see what I've discovered so far! Already this is proving to be the discovery of a lifetime. It's…it's positively _career_-making! Astounding results! Wouldn't you like to see?"

Rossi's expression shifted. _My God in heaven. She really doesn't care if Aaron's dead or alive._ As Bescardi's enthusiasm warmed, Rossi's rage grew chillier; his plan of action more precise.

"Yes, Carol. I'd like to see what you've done. All of it. Show me everything."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For the next hour, Rossi let Dr. Bescardi wax eloquent about her work.

While she bubbled and fizzed and overflowed with her own genius, he kept careful track of where her data resided. The hard copy was negligible. Rossi wanted original files. When he expressed his admiration for her overcoming the primitive surroundings, she gave him a coy look and crooked a finger at him to follow her.

She gave him a tour of her lab facilities and her office. She didn't have internet connection; landlines were nonexistent and wireless didn't reach this far into the wilderness. But she had opted to bring in a monitor and a sizeable hard drive where she had meticulously stored and labeled every iota of data.

Rossi smiled at her.

Bescardi was ecstatic! She'd underestimated David Rossi, and was so grateful to find she had. She was sure the man had influence over her test subjects. If he grasped the full import of her findings, she was sure he would persuade them to return.

When she had talked herself dry, she turned to him, eyes glowing, eager for his approval, his cooperation.

"So! Remarkable, is it not?" She held her breath and waited.

"Is that it? Have you shown me everything, Carol?"

Something was wrong. Rossi's smile wasn't that of appreciation. He looked like a cobra, fixing her with his dead-eyed stare. She faltered. And faded. And because she was indeed brilliant, she finally understood.

"David. No." They had ended at the cell she'd converted into her office. She backed toward the computer she'd filled with data. And the flash drives she'd used to make copies…to ensure the security…the _immortality_…of her work. "David, you can't! Think! Please!"

Rossi shoved her aside and in one swift movement released all the rage he'd built up listening to her prattle on about results when the image of Aaron, lying on the ground, giving up, leaving, was still fresh before him. The computer monitor tipped over and gave a satisfying crunch as he smashed it repeatedly against the ancient stone walls. He gave the hard drive a thorough working-over. When he was convinced it was past saving, he turned to the flash drives.

But Bescardi had taken them. In her estimation, Rossi was committing a crime against science and the betterment of humanity. Unconscionable. Intolerable. She cradled the precious remnants of her professional life and ran back to the kitchen. The keys to her van were there.

_Thank God Dr. Reid and the girl had run off before searching that last room_. She wasn't sure what had happened after Ana had hit her, but she'd been tremendously relieved to find her keys where she expected them. Especially after seeing how those two had ransacked her other possessions. At least they hadn't destroyed her data. That ignorant ape, Rossi, was murdering her career! But as long as she had even one flash drive, she would triumph.

Breathless from running, heart pounding with the terror of being alone with a madman capable of destroying the gift of knowledge, Bescardi grabbed her keys and sprinted for the driveway.

When she rounded the rental car and saw what was left of her van's engine, her gorge rose. With a last, illogically desperate hope, she slapped her pockets, looking for Hotch's key ring. And then she realized, of course, the car wouldn't be here if Rossi hadn't somehow obtained the keys. The test subjects must have stolen them from her after the girl stunned her.

She was trapped. The gravel crunched behind her.

"Hello, Carol."

_God, his voice still sounds so…dead_.


	46. Coffee Break

Morgan, Reid and Ana waited.

They occupied themselves with the time-worn traditions of pretending to read year-old magazines and pretending to enjoy weak, vending machine coffee. Every once in a while Reid and Morgan would exchange looks, both wondering how Rossi was faring and when they would see him. Phone reception didn't reach the monastery. That didn't stop the agents from trying Rossi's number repeatedly, as though they expected the connection to surprise them and heal itself organically.

Hotch had been whisked away to have his knee x-rayed and his wounds cleaned. After an hour or so, a doctor with a lined, kindly face and a jovial expression did his best to allay their worries. Hotch would be fine…in time. His knee had dislocated. Because of the severity and the extensive swelling, they had immobilized it and would decide between applying a cast or simply wrapping it, depending on how it looked in 48 hours.

"He'll be sore and stiff for a while, but, all in all, he's a lucky boy." The doctor shook his grizzled head. "Most of what we see out here are hiking accidents, or campers getting lost. It doesn't pay to underestimate Mother Nature. I can't tell you how many cases of exposure we get each year. A lot of them end in a casket, instead of a cast." He finished scanning Hotch's chart and looked up with a warm smile. "If we cast his leg and he complains, you tell him that."

"Sure. Thanks, Doc." Morgan beamed his relief in a wide grin. "When can we see him?"

"He's exhausted. We have him on an IV for the dehydration and we're giving him antibiotics to stave off any infection in his wounds. You can drop by, but odds are he'll be asleep for several hours."

The doctor flipped Mr. Hotchner's chart closed and was about to leave when something occurred to him. He turned back, interrupting the relieved sighs and quiet discussion that had begun, as the three friends discussed their next move.

"One more thing..." All eyes were on him, wondering if the rosy portrait of Hotch's recovery was about to be eclipsed. "That mark on his chest. How'd he get it?"

Reid glanced from Ana to Morgan and back. "He's got a lot of scars. Is that what you mean?"

It was the doctor's turn to look skeptical. "C'mon…You brought him in half-naked. You didn't notice?" When all three people before him continued to look clueless, he rubbed his face with one hand, privately thinking of all the strange things he'd seen in his forty-year practice.

"Well, it's not a tattoo and it's not a birthmark…" There was still no sign of recognition among the patient's friends. "It's a whitish mark. I don't know if it's permanent. Might fade, in time. Maybe." Clearly no one was going to confess any knowledge about Mr. Hotchner's chest. "It looks like a handprint."

Ana and Reid exchanged guilty looks.

Morgan felt his way to the nearest chair and dropped into it.

Some days, as much as you tried to avoid them, mysteries found you anyway.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Bescardi clutched her container of flash drives to her, wrapping her arms around them with the protective determination of a mother bear defending her cubs.

"You will _NOT_ touch these, David Rossi. You can't be that benighted. It's the same as…as…as smashing La Pieta…as dashing garbage across the Sistine Chapel's ceiling. You cannot be that much a barbarian!" Her Italian accent was becoming more pronounced, increasing with her distress.

"Michelangelo didn't throw a man over a cliff and leave him to die." Rossi advanced with slow, deliberate, unstoppable steps.

"How many times must I tell you? _I did not touch Mr. Hotchner!_"

Rossi halted inches away. "You have the mind of a scientist, Carol. Minutiae, fine points of distinction, technicalities. Those are what you thrive on. Maybe you didn't 'touch' Hotch, but my gut tells me you were instrumental in leaving him out there. And my gut never steers me wrong when it comes to cold, self-centered bitches."

Her eyebrows rose at the vulgarity. Rossi had always behaved like a gentleman around her. _Well…at least he's showing his true colors. Barbarian. Benighted beast. No better than his guard-dog friend._

But sometimes in the face of defeat, or under terrific pressure, Bescardi's brain could produce solutions…or at least alternatives. Holding her career in her hands, watching certain destruction rolling up its sleeves before her, she grasped at one of those alternatives now.

"Perhaps you're right, Dave. Perhaps I'm more invested in science than humanity. Or maybe I'm invested in science _for_ humanity." It was the most difficult thing Dr. Carol Bescardi had ever done…she loosened her grip on the precious box of drives and extended them toward Rossi. He raised his chin and regarded her through half-lidded eyes. Suspicious. Calculating. Wondering what her game was.

"Do you remember how we met, David?" She didn't wait for his reply. "You needed someone to talk to. You had taken a wrong turn on a case. You had trusted in the paranormal and it cost you dearly. You came to me and I listened. I helped you, yes?" Rossi nodded once. "Your belief in yourself was compromised. If I hadn't shown you that you were not at fault, you might have abandoned your career." Taking the biggest gamble of her life, Bescardi stepped closer and nudged Rossi's hands with the box's edge, encouraging him to take it.

"Now I am putting _my_ career in _your_ hands. Before we do anything else, I ask of you the same consideration I showed you when _you_ were in need." Rossi allowed his fingers to grip the container of flash drives. He looked into the opaque darkness of the doctor's eyes.

"Talk to me, David. Show me the courtesy I showed you. If you think I've taken a wrong turn, help me. Help me see as you do." Feeling Rossi's hold on the box, Bescardi withdrew her hands and stepped back, giving him full control of her most precious possession.

"Let me make us some coffee and we'll talk, yes?"

At mention of 'coffee,' she saw something flicker in his eyes. He nodded again and smiled.

This time it didn't remind her of a cobra.

More like a crocodile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morgan had recovered from the question about the mark on Hotch's chest. But he didn't wish to discuss it.

"I'm gonna stop by Hotch's room. Just for a sec."

Reid looked down at Ana, still clinging to him and looking a little green around the edges. "I wanna get Ana out of here for a little while. The doc said Hotch'd probably be asleep and we haven't eaten since yesterday." He hugged Ana a fraction closer. "Bescardi kind of ruined breakfast, ya know?"

"Yes, please, Spencer." Ana looked as though she would have jumped at any chance to take a break from the psychic overflow that surrounded all hospitals.

Morgan passed a hand over his stomach and shrugged. "I'm more tired than hungry. I must've eaten about twenty candy bars and maybe twice as many bags of chips on the drive up here. You guys go eat. I'm gonna sit by Hotch for a while, okay?"

"Sure."

"See ya later."

Morgan watched the young couple leave, hand in hand. He found Hotch's room and paused outside the door before entering. The first sight of anyone he knew reclining in a hospital bed was always a shock for him. He'd seen Hotch in that position a couple of times, but still needed a moment to prepare himself. Patients always looked so pale and fragile. It was disturbing. Especially when it was someone you loved. Or someone you preferred to think of as indestructible and tough. Morgan took a breath and entered.

Sure enough, it struck him how thin and pale his boss looked when he wasn't barking orders or scowling…or upright.

He approached the bed cautiously. Hotch was wired and tubed, his injured knee resting in a sling depending from steel rods over the bed. His chest moved in reassuring rhythm.

Watching his chest made Morgan think of the mark the doctor had mentioned. After a few minutes, he decided the Unit Chief wouldn't know if he satisfied his curiosity and took a peek. Hotch had been stripped. For the most part his wounds had been left open to the air, antibiotic ointment smeared over them. A few deeper gashes were bandaged. The standard hospital gown rested lightly over him, visible from the waist up. A sheet and blanket covered the lower part of his body.

Morgan looked over his shoulder. He didn't see or hear anyone approaching. He reached behind Hotch's neck and undid the tie holding the gown secure. With gentle care, he pulled the neck of the gown down until Hotch's chest was exposed.

Morgan frowned. It was just as the doctor described. There was a patch several shades paler than the surrounding skin, in the shape of a slim, perfectly-formed hand.

Morgan stared for a moment. He checked over his shoulder again to be sure there would be no one to observe what he did next. He couldn't resist placing his own hand over the print.

He could think of no plausible explanation for how Hotch had acquired it. It was just another mystery tied to Reid and Ana. Morgan pulled his hand back, shuddered, and, shaking his head, pulled the gown back up. As he slipped his fingers behind Hotch's neck to secure the tie he'd undone, he glanced at his leader's face.

Hotch's eyes were open, watching him with a steady, solemn gaze.

To Morgan's surprise, the sadness that always seemed to be lurking in the depths of those eyes resolved itself into tears.

Hotch began to cry, and Morgan had no idea why.


	47. Rossi's Revenge

Morgan decided that, as disturbing as it was to see Hotch hospitalized, it was worse to see him cry. And when both conditions occurred simultaneously, his comfort zone was so far behind him, it was merely the ghost of the memory of a speck in the rearview mirror.

"Ahhhh, Hotch. It's okay. Everything's okay." He didn't really know what was wrong. He just wanted it to stop.

When a soothing voice intruded from the hallway, Morgan was endlessly grateful.

"Now, what's going on here…you should be fast asleep for a while, yet."

The doctor who had informed them of Hotch's condition entered the room. Without hesitation, he laid the charts he was carrying down and sat on the edge of the bed. As he talked, he smoothed away the tears, applying gentle pressure as he ran a thumb over each eye in turn.

"This's a good thing, anyway." His voice continued low and almost affectionate. "When you first came in, you didn't have enough moisture in you to make tears. This is mu-u-uch better." The doctor had his own ability to sense what people felt and needed, born of his decades-long service to the health of his community and its wayward visitors who needed him far too frequently. He assessed Hotch and decided that this was a man who drew comfort from being touched.

_Probably never got enough of that kind of love growing up._

After wiping the tears away, he rested his hand at the side of his patient's face, stroking the same large, worn thumb over the cheekbone until some measure of control had been restored.

"I was telling your friends you're very lucky to be here." The doctor moved his hand lower, still sending a message of care and solace through touch, tracing Hotch's collarbone in soothing, repetitious strokes. He studied the injured man for a few minutes. Clearly, he was deeply troubled.

"It's nothing, son. You know, I've seen men who've been through a lot less than you cry on-and-off for hours…days, even. It's partly that you're exhausted; your reserves are used up…gone. It's partly the pain of your injuries." He sighed. "But mostly, I think you cry because you realize how easy it is to die. Doing it in the wilderness with your only company being the thought that you're alone and no one will ever learn what happened to you…Well, I think that's the worst part of it. And I think that's worth a few tears. More than a few."

The doctor continued the slow movement over Hotch's collarbone. His patient's eyes kept flicking toward his friend, the man who had carried him in. _Something else is eating at him. Something bad enough to make him wake up when he should have slept for hours yet._ After a few more minutes, the doctor gave him a final pat. Standing up with a groan as his knees objected, he looked down at a calmer, but still troubled, man.

"Well, if you're not going to sleep, I'll let you talk to your friend. Five minutes. That's all you get. And I'll be back…" He checked his watch. "…in exactly five with some food and something to help you rest." He looked over the tops of his half-lens, Santa-glasses with mock severity. "It'll be your choice: eat or sleep. But mark my words, young man, you'll do one or the other and not much else for the next two days. Understood?"

Hotch nodded. "Thank you, doctor." His voice was hoarse, dehydration still affecting his throat and vocal chords.

The doctor smiled down at him. He cocked his head toward the hall, indicating Morgan should follow. When they were outside the doorway, he spoke softly.

"Five minutes. I know it's not much time, but try to get him to tell you what's bothering him. He needs to rest and I don't want him worrying himself awake every two hours. Okay?"

Morgan nodded. "Got it. And, Doc? Thank you. Really."

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder, retrieved the charts he'd left on Hotch's bed and went on his way. He appreciated thankfulness, but he wished people would demonstrate it by taking better care of themselves. And of each other. Although, on reflection, he was fairly certain there was a bond between the two men he'd just left that made taking care of each other part of their daily lives.

Morgan wasted a few seconds of his allotted time watching the old physician amble away. He had liked him before. But after watching him console Hotch, he realized this tiny hospital in the middle of nowhere boasted one of those rare people who lived with no goal more humble nor more magnificent than bringing comfort into the world.

Morgan had a newfound respect for simple, country doctors.

He took a breath and looked back at the still form in the bed.

_Five minutes. C'mon, Hotch, lemme into your head._ He grinned ruefully at the thought. _Damn. Reid or his girlfriend could probably get in, find a needle in a haystack and get back out in five __**seconds**__…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi's crocodile grin stayed with him all the way to the refectory.

He watched Dr. Bescardi casting anxious glances at her box of flash drives, securely nestled under his arm…the one farthest from her. When they reached their destination, he placed it on a table and stood in silence. She had trouble tearing her eyes away, but managed to do so with visible effort.

"So! Coffee, yes?" Her voice was so bright and brittle, Rossi thought it might shatter like glass. Or he might cut himself on it.

"If you're sure that's what you want, Carol."

She hesitated, wondering if there was some sort of subtext she was missing. _No. He is simply enjoying the brute force he can wield over me. But he will learn that brawn is pathetic and ineffectual when pitted against brains._ She stretched ruby lips tight across her teeth in an approximation of a smile and hurried into the kitchen.

Everything had been left in readiness. She'd been prepared for the regrettable eventuality that she might have needed to dose Ana in order to ensure Dr. Reid's cooperation. _Well, __**that**__ ship has sailed, but there's enough on those flash drives to enlist all sorts of aid in getting my subjects back in the lab…and properly controlled. For the rest of their strange, unnatural lives._

Despite all the regrets, second-guessing, and tangential possibilities crowding her mind, Bescardi focused on the task at hand. She used the process of brewing fresh coffee, and adjusting ingredients to produce a particularly potent batch of her special additive, as an opportunity to discipline her frantic thoughts. She set a tray with teaspoons, sugar and a small server of cream. She selected mismatched cups to be sure there was no confusion. She poured the appropriate beverage in each. Picking up the one that hadn't been doctored, she touched her lips to it, leaving a dark red imprint, further marking it as hers.

Dr. Bescardi prided herself on always minimizing the chance for error.

With a deep breath and every expectation of success, she lifted the tray and pushed her way through the heavy doors dividing kitchen from refectory. Rossi was still standing where she'd left him, waiting for her reappearance.

He watched her graceful progress toward him.

He watched her set the artfully laden tray down, turning on her best I'm-your-hostess smile.

He watched her struggle to maintain it when he picked up the cup with the lipstick stain and gestured for her to take the other.

"David, you don't want a used cup, surely?" The corners of her mouth twitched. "See the lip marks? I already drank from that one."

"Then it's my turn now."

The standoff lasted for a matter of seconds; sufficient time for Bescardi to realize she'd lost.

Rossi didn't give her much time to react. He succeeded where Reid had failed. He knew she'd make a last desperate grab for the box of hard drives. He was counting on it. With swift professionalism, he grabbed Bescardi's arms, dragging her onto the table's surface and twisting her onto her back. Pulling her to him, he secured one arm around her neck, the back of her head against his chest. Half-lying on the table, with no purchase for her feet, the doctor could only thrash about. Increased pressure, as Rossi tightened his hold, soon put a stop to that.

As Bescardi watched with horrified eyes, Rossi picked up the second cup of coffee and forced the rim between her teeth.

"Drink or choke, Carol. It's your choice."

But it really wasn't. As Rossi tipped the cup, there was no place for the liquid to go, but down her throat. When the vertigo hit, Dr. Bescardi remembered Mr. Hotchner throwing himself out of a car door while under the drug's influence. She marveled at the effort it must have taken.

All she could do was lie still as the world spun, and watch David Rossi roll down his sleeves, pick up the box of flash drives and leave. The last thing Dr. Bescardi wondered before passing out, was how much of her memory would be erased. She wished she'd had the chance to study the drug's effects on Hotchner.

_Science… could have… benefited…What…a…waste…_


	48. Ham with a Side of Panic

"Morgan, I left them! I don't know why, but I did."

It was hard to listen to Hotch's voice. It strained and scratched against the dryness that still affected it.

"Calm down." Morgan took the place formerly occupied by the doctor on the edge of the bed. "What are you talking about?"

The look on Hotch's face made Morgan doubt his own grasp of the facts. Whatever his tired, damaged boss was saying, he believed it with all his heart.

"I was supposed to stay with Reid and Ana. I was supposed to make sure nothing bad happened to them. I didn't."

"Hotch, it wasn't your fault."

Morgan had intended his simple statement to allay his friend's guilt. He had no way of knowing Hotch would read it as confirmation of failure. He couldn't predict that his boss would interpret the 'it' to which Morgan referred as a fate that had befallen Reid and Ana.

Hotch had been straining forward, propped on his elbows. He dropped back, letting himself fall flat. Defeated.

"Oh, God. What happened to them?"

"What?" Morgan scratched his chin, trying to jump on the speeding train that was taking his boss further and further away. "Hotch, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Where are they, Morgan?!" Visions of sheet-covered slabs in a morgue were creeping into Hotch's weary mind.

"Who? Reid and Ana?" Hotch's look of dread as he nodded finally connected the dots for Morgan. "They're fine. They went for some food. They were starving and I guess Ana doesn't do too well in hospitals, so Reid wanted to give her a break." The dread had turned to disbelief. Shock, even. Morgan took a cue from the old doctor whose presence had been so comforting. He rested a hand on Hotch's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

"Ho-o-o-tch? What do you think happened out there?" Morgan frowned when the only response he got was a look of confusion as the injured man's eyes darted, following some inner visualization that needed study before an answer could be given.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There wasn't much choice in the way of eateries.

Reid and Ana settled on a shabby café with a menu that offered three items. But they were so famished, ham sandwiches sounded like an offering from the gods. They sat at a table that tried to hide its former life as lawn furniture by using a vinyl tablecloth as a disguise, and stared at each other. Neither had complained, but using their abilities was draining. Speaking, forming words, would take too much effort. They settled for the deeper communication of holding hands across the tabletop.

When their order arrived, accompanied by thick fries and wedges of sliced apple, they fell on the food like ravenous canines, reveling in every bite. Reid had only worked his way through half of his meal when he froze. Ana did the same a heartbeat later, picking up on his distress. She swallowed the fries she'd been chewing. Wiping the oil from her fingertips, she reached across the table and grasped his wrist.

"Spencer! Look at me!"

The eyes that met hers were tragic, wide with panic. Before she could separate herself from what he was feeling, before she could attain some calm and send out her senses to connect with him on a deeper level, Reid bolted from his seat.

"Spencer!" Ana stood and watched him stumble in his haste to exit the café. Before the door closed, he shouted over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Ana! It's Hotch. Something's wrong. I'm sorry…" He hesitated, torn between leaving her and answering whatever call he was hearing.

"Go. Spencer, I understand. I'll be right behind you." _Where you go, I go, too._

Reid pounded down the street toward the hospital. The panic he was sure was Hotch-generated lent him speed. But at the same time, he was buoyed by the joy of knowing that finally, finally, there _was_ someone who really _did_ understand him.

Ana sighed and went to the counter to ask for a doggie bag and the check.

Despite worry about Hotch, she smiled.

_Mom always told me I'd fall for the kind of guy who'd ask me out and then stick me with the bill._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi took his time once Dr. Bescardi was immobilized.

He collected everything she'd printed out about Reid and Ana. When he took a minute to read a brief summary of her findings, a shiver waltzed its way up his spine and across his shoulders. _What __**are**__ those kids? And where will it lead?_

He shook off the feeling that this was all some surreal dream and began methodically destroying Bescardi's flash drives. She had made multiple copies to ensure the survival of her data. When the last little drive lay before him, waiting for its death, Rossi hesitated. After a moment, he reconsidered, picked it up and pocketed it. _Reid wanted to know about himself. This might be a start…as long as it's for his eyes only._

He collected his colleague's go-bags and Ana's single piece of luggage. Stowing them in the car Hotch had rented, Rossi turned for a last look at the monastery. He was on the point of leaving, but he couldn't help feeling as though he'd forgotten something. _Evidence. She's not done paying for what she did to Hotch…what she __**wanted**__ to do to Reid and Ana._

Rossi returned to the kitchen area and surveyed the tidy display of lab equipment. He picked up two test tubes. A pot of coffee sat beside a beaker filled with amber fluid. Nothing else looked as though it had been mixed from the carefully labeled chemicals lining one counter. Rossi sniffed at the beaker and found it odorless. _Well, maybe it's the drug she used…maybe not. But it's the only likely prospect. Backing up Hotch's story with a sample should go a long way toward conviction._ He filled one test tube from the coffee pot, then one from the beaker, and stoppered them.

On his way out, he checked on Bescardi. She lay on the tabletop where she'd fallen, curled into the fetal position she'd assumed when the vertigo claimed her. Unconscious. Rossi felt her pulse and decided she was in no danger of dying. He toyed with the idea of abandoning her in the wilderness and leaving her to the same fate Hotch had suffered. It was only a momentary fantasy. After a lifetime of controlling his desire to mete out his own justice when it came to unsubs, Rossi wasn't going to let this one destroy his record.

_And that's all you are now, Carol. An unsub. _

He considered bringing her down the mountain with him, but the thought of spending three hours in her company, even her unconscious company, was repugnant. In the end, Rossi allowed himself only a small additional revenge. Before he left her, he poured a cup of coffee and placed it where it would be the first thing she'd see upon regaining her senses. He didn't know if it was the drugged version, but he planned on imagining it was.

It would be a pleasant daydream to occupy his mind on the long drive down.


	49. Law vs Justice

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed and watched Hotch's panicked eyes, waiting for an answer.

"Hotch, seriously…what do you think happened on that mountain?"

"I…I, uh…I must've left them. I drove away and left them and it was my job to protect them, and I…I _didn't_.." It sounded as though he was becoming too agitated for his weakened, physical state. Morgan realized that same weakness was part of the problem; part of why his normally staid boss was so upset.

"Hotch. Listen to me." Morgan took hold of both his shoulders and made sure the injured man's eyes connected with his own. "Reid and Ana are safe. You're the one who got hurt. But now you're okay. You need rest and some time to heal, but you're fine. _Everyone's_ fine. Understand?"

Hotch stared at him, reading the truth in Morgan's face. When he felt some of the tension drain away, Morgan released his grip and sat up straighter.

"Relax, man."

Just when it looked as though Hotch might actually do as told, the sound of feet pounding down the hallway, of someone running, started the adrenaline pumping again. Morgan stood, ready for whatever happened next.

When an out-of-breath Reid overshot his destination, grabbing the doorjamb to bring himself to a stop, Morgan shook his head. _Get one settled down and the other goes crazy._

"Jeez, kid! Where's the fire?!" Morgan didn't look like a man who'd welcome any more drama. At least not in the presence of someone he was trying to de-stress. But when he saw Hotch's expression of melded relief and disbelief, and the wary concern on Reid's face, Morgan thought this might be just what the doctor ordered. He also realized the doctor in question would return soon to enforce his prescription for undisturbed rest. They needed to make good use of what little time they had left. Backing up a few steps, Morgan motioned Reid in. As the younger agent entered the room, Morgan took up a position in the doorway.

"Hotch? Are you okay? What's wrong?" Reid sat on the bed. Morgan shivered when he saw him unthinkingly, reflexively, automatically place his hand on Hotch's chest. Exactly where that strange mark lay concealed by the thin fabric of the hospital gown.

"Reid…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

Hotch blinked. Did no one understand the enormity of abandoning one's job…one's post…one's _friends_?! "I left you guys. I don't know why, but I drove away and left you. I wasn't supposed to do that. I'm sorry."

Reid studied his boss' face and felt earnest regret and shame pouring off of him. It nearly broke his heart. "That's not what happened. Not even close. Why would you think that?"

Hotch seemed to shrink a little. He only did that when he was _really_ unsure of himself. It was a rare sight that made Morgan take a step closer, wishing he could banish whatever haunted this blameless man.

"I…I woke up in the woods. The car was there, but I couldn't get to it. I must've been in an accident and got thrown out. I guess I got lost trying to find a way back." His voice faded as he saw the look of pity Reid couldn't hide…and the look of anger Morgan didn't even try to cover up. Hotch looked form one to the other. "That's not what happened?"

Reid was frowning at him now. "What's the last thing you remember _before_ you woke up injured?" Hotch was trying, but there just wasn't anything _to_ remember. Nothing. He did the best he could and dredged up his last clear recollection.

"I told you and Ana to be quiet. And there was something about a wolf that might have been funny?"

Reid searched his eyes. _He's asking…not sure if any of that actually happened._ "That was days ago, Hotch. The next morning, Dr. Bescardi drugged you and took you away…abandoned you in the woods when you were hurt." His boss' eyes were widening, but with disbelief, not recall. "Hotch, you didn't leave. You were taken."

Morgan stepped closer. "You really don't remember any of that? Anything about how you ended up hurt and lost?" Hotch shook his head, looking as though he blamed himself for a faulty memory in addition to everything else.

"That's enough."

All three heads turned toward the new voice. The elderly doctor stood in the doorway. A covered plate in one hand; a tiny paper cup holding pills in the other. He smiled as he moved to the bed, motioning Reid to stand.

"Sorry, boys. Time's up." The doctor wasn't sure if his patient's fears had been allayed or merely replaced with new ones. The look on the man's face was more of shock than anything else. "Visiting hours are over. Out you go." His quiet authority had power; Reid and Morgan told Hotch they'd be back, but left without argument.

The doctor made an executive decision. Pills first, then a few bites of food before the medication took effect. He was determined to make sure this man slept undisturbed for at least eight hours before he'd let him speak to or see anyone else.

No matter what.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Damn it!" Morgan slammed his hand against the wall. He'd waited until they were several yards down the hall before giving vent to his frustration.

"I know. It probably hurts him worse than anything physical to think he was in dereliction of duty."

"That's not it, kid!" Morgan made an effort to keep his voice low when a passing nurse glared at him. "If Hotch can't remember what she did to him, Bescardi will probably get off scott-free."

"She can't! My God, Morgan, she drugged a federal agent. She kidnapped him and she left him to die. Even if she didn't mean to, she's still guilty of a couple felonies. Unlawful restraint at the very least! What do you mean she'd get off?"

"If there's no testimony against her from her victim, all the evidence we could possibly gather is circumstantial. Unless that bitch took pictures or left a journal or some other record confessing her intention to harm Hotch, no jury or judge will ever convict her on the strength of…what?...car keys?...fingerprints in a place she can say she was supposed to be?...or, even better, the testimony of a couple of psychics about their paranormal take on what happened? And how about that? If this goes forward and everything about you and Ana comes out, that'll be your worst nightmare, right?" Morgan slammed his fist into another unfortunate wall as they entered the hospital's lobby area.

Reid's brain was accessing everything he'd ever read about legal procedures at lightning speed. Manufacture of an hallucinogen by a non-dependent person could carry a five year sentence. But if she used her status as a research scientist, she'd likely avoid any repercussions. Reid suspected she'd altered some form of lorazepam. It was an anti-anxiety drug that counted amnesia as a regrettable side effect.

Reid also considered Bescardi guilty of kidnapping. But a competent attorney could argue it was the slightly lesser crime of restraint. Restraint was defined as restricting a person's movements intentionally and unlawfully in such a manner as to interfere substantially with his liberty and to do so without his consent. The crime carried a sentence of five to twenty-five years. The only problem was, if Hotch couldn't remember being victimized, the case would prove as flimsy as a house of cards. Any lawyer worth his briefs would blow it apart with minimal effort.

And Reid couldn't see Hotch lying to put Bescardi away._ He'd lie at the drop of a hat to save one of us if it were a life-or-death situation, but he'd never lie to win a court case. He's not built that way_.

By the time they reached the main door and Morgan strong-armed it open, slamming it back hard enough to impact the adjacent outside wall, Reid had to admit his partner was right. And he felt like pounding on a wall himself. But he resisted. Morgan had set the bar pretty high when it came to abusing walls and doors. Reid knew anything _he_ did would just suffer in comparison.

"That's just not fair." His voice dripped with disgust for the legal system that circumscribed their lives as well as their careers. Morgan cast him a sidelong glance.

"The law has nothing to do with justice, kid. Welcome to the real world."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi drove as quickly as the rough terrain allowed.

He was anxious to know how Aaron was doing. Needed to see for himself; to reassure himself with a touch or a few minutes of quiet conversation. He kept trying his cell phone, but the connection still wasn't getting through.

He turned his mind to the details he'd have to take care of once he was back in civilization. First, check on Aaron. Second, get the authorities involved and have Carol arrested. He anticipated a short, sweet trial. All Aaron had to do was tell his story. With the supplemental evidence of the samples he'd taken from the kitchen, and with supporting testimony from Ana, Reid, Morgan and himself, her conviction should be a foregone conclusion.

The only delay should be the few days it would probably take Hotch to recover enough to give a statement.

_Cut and dried. In the can. Piece of cake._

Rossi smiled. He liked it when messy situations could be resolved cleanly and swiftly through the system. It didn't happen often, but, in this case, he was sure justice would prevail. It would be a thing of beauty.

He decided to try phoning Morgan again. When the call connected, he was surprised and delighted. The feeling didn't last long.

"Rossi, we've got a problem…"


	50. Grasping at Straws

"He can't remember _anything?!_" Rossi felt his confidence in Carol Bescardi's conviction ebb, recede and finally disappear in an evil puff of smoke.

"Nothing that would implicate her." Morgan's anger managed to make itself heard despite the spotty phone reception. "Rossi? You still there?"

"Yeah. Yes. I'm just thinking." Actually, his skull felt more like a cauldron of seething, bubbling disappointment and rage, than a container for rational thought. Rossi had already decided he would make good on all his threats against Carol's career, even if she hadn't technically violated the agreement to keep Reid's talents secret. After what she'd done to Hotch, there was no question in the senior agent's mind that she deserved the worst he could do.

But if Bescardi walked away a free woman, there was no justice in the world. _So, since when is __**that**__ anything new?_ Rossi tamped down his cynicism and tried to organize his thoughts. _The mind we __**really**__ need right now is Aaron's. He's the one who was a federal prosecutor. He's the one who'd know all the tricks of the trade._ And then inspiration hit…or at least a straw they might grasp at drifted into sight.

"Morgan? Still with me?"

"Yeah."

"Get a blood sample from Hotch. Now!"

"What?"

"DO IT! NOW!"

Reid had been distracted by the sight of Ana walking toward them, café doggie bag in hand. He was snapped back to the urgency of the moment when Morgan slapped his phone into Reid's palm and sprinted back into the hospital.

"Huh, wha…Morgan! What's…" Then he realized the phone was active and still connecting. "Rossi? What's going on? Morgan just took off like…"

"We need to get Hotch's blood analyzed, Reid. Go after him. Make sure it gets done FAST."

The call began to break up. Reid looked at approaching Ana, shrugged and held up his hands in apology for not waiting for her…or going to her…or being a gentleman and relieving her of the bag she carried…or of resuming their interrupted meal…. Well, there were just so _many_ regrettable items on the list. But her smile followed him as he trailed after Morgan. And his heart did a little flip of joy, knowing no explanations were necessary . When the time came and they could sit down at their leisure again, all he had to do was hold her hand and invite her in. She'd understand.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having watched his patient swallow the pills that would ensure an extended sleep, the elderly doctor sat at his bedside, talking about nothing in particular, but in a soothing tone meant to calm and lull. He had raised the bed and was making sure the injured man ate a few mouthfuls of food. Mentally, he kicked himself for not bringing soup or pudding. The patient's throat was still too dry to allow easy passage of solids. Nevertheless, a few bites of the tuna salad sandwich would do him a world of good. When eyelids began to grow heavy and the hand maneuvering the sandwich began to grow leaden, the doctor removed the meal, lowered the bed, and watched his patient fall asleep.

_Didn't take long. Poor boy's all used up._

He pushed some stray hair off the sleeping man's forehead, checked his IV, and turned to leave. He was more than a little surprised when the injured man's friend, the one who had carried him in, nearly collided with him.

"Doc!"

"Shhhhhh." The doctor placed a firm hand on Morgan's shoulder, forcibly turning him from Hotch's room and propelling him back down the hallway. "Your friend is asleep. You can see him tomorrow, but he needs rest right now."

Morgan shrugged off the doctors grip. "No, Doc, you don't understand. We need you to take a blood sample from him as soon as possible…NOW, in fact."

The doctor raised his eyebrows and gave this agitated visitor a quizzical look over the top rims of his glasses. "That's an interesting request. Care to tell me why I should drain blood from a man already in a weakened state?"

"We think he was drugged…poisoned. We need evidence and his blood might be the only viable piece we can get." Morgan pulled out his badge and displayed his credentials. "There's more to this than I can tell you without wasting time. Please. Help us."

"Am I to understand that your friend's condition was no accident? That it was, shall we say, _engineered_ by a third party?"

"Yes, sir." A sublevel of Morgan's mind marveled at using the honorific 'sir.' But the old physician commanded respect. Not because of his age. Not because of his position or occupation. But because of the kindness Morgan had seen in the way the man handled others. He didn't think this was someone who would disappoint anyone championing a just cause.

He was right.

With a sigh, and as swiftly as possible, the doctor gave orders for blood to be drawn. After watching the necessary equipment being wheeled past them, phlebotomist in tow, he turned regretful eyes on the FBI agent.

"I hate to tell you this, son, but chances are nothing will show up in the analysis. What he hasn't metabolized already has likely been rendered undetectable by the medication and fluids we've been pumping into him since he got here." Seeing Morgan's dejected look, the doctor put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "We'll do our best, but…well…sorry if it doesn't turn out the way you want." As he left, he offered one last observation. "What's done to a man's body and what his body can attest to, are two different things."

Reid and Ana had been standing nearby, listening to the exchange. Reid handed Morgan back his phone.

"That's kind of like the 'justice isn't the same as law' thing Only on a biological level."

Un-amused, Morgan fixed the younger agent with a gimlet stare.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

While they were waiting for Rossi to arrive, and for the rush-order on the blood analysis to be filled, Morgan called J.J., bringing her up to date on the weekend's adventures.

Reid couldn't hear the full conversation, but judging by the angry buzz on the other end of the line, and Morgan's chagrined expression, J.J. wasn't too pleased about having been left out. Or having to come up with an explanation of why the male half of their team wouldn't be reporting for duty Monday morning.

When Morgan winced and the buzz changed to a higher, more hysterical register, Reid assumed the call had been transferred to Garcia.

Leaving the older agent to fend off the feminine attack fueled by worry, Reid went to where Ana was sitting in the lobby. As he approached, she held up the doggy bag, tilting it back and forth in a tempting invitation to finish their interrupted meal.

He flopped down beside her, looking preoccupied. She set out the remains of their sandwiches and fries. Even cold and somewhat the worse for congealed grease, the food tasted wonderful to the hungry pair.

While they ate, Reid told Ana more about their dilemma. After he'd described Hotch's panic and his inability to recall how he'd wound up wandering through the woods, she grew thoughtful.

"Spencer, you _felt_ Hotch was in trouble. Are you guys connected in some way? I mean, more than anyone else, you've been into his mind and his emotions a number of times now. Do you think there's some kind of _permanent_ bond from all that?"

Reid shook his head. "God, I hope not. Hotch wasn't _meant_ for this kind of stuff. He's not naturally like you or me. If I've…_changed_…him in some way, I don't know what that'll do to him."

He abandoned the remains of his sandwich. After a few minutes, he buried his face in his hands, the food he'd just eaten feeling like lead in a suddenly roiling stomach. "Ana, you should have seen him when I went into his room. He was all confused and upset and…well, he wasn't calm, strong, reliable Hotch."

Reid looked up, tears gathering in his eyes. "Did _I_ do that to him? On top of everything he's been through, did I mess with his brain and leave…I don't know…psychic _footprints_ all over it? All over him?"

Ana could feel his guilt. She could almost taste the quiet horror in him at the possibility of having damaged Hotch. She could tell Reid was feeling…_monstrous_. The word itself, 'monster,' was at the forefront of his self-image. Like flashing neon, it announced his deepest fears. Like a siren, it warned others away. _I hurt someone I love. I can hurt you, too. Beware. Be scared. Run from me. Please._

She refused.

"I don't think anything you've done has harmed Hotch. Good lord, Spencer! You brought him back when he wanted to die! And most of all…what I felt from you when you were keeping him from leaving was…" Her voice caught, almost broke. "…it was _beautiful_. Loving and gentle." She rallied, clearing the lump from her throat and wiping at moist eyes. "You're right. We don't know enough about ourselves, but I _do_ know that if Hotch is suffering, it's not from anything _you've_ done. And, in time, I think it'll be a wonderful memory for him…of sharing that kind of mind-touch."

"Maybe. I don't know." Reid looked resigned, but unconvinced. He gave a wry grimace. "Who knows…maybe in time, if it's _not_ a wonderful memory, I can just march in and _repair_ it, right?" As joking as the words might be, his voice still held a note of self-loathing. But before Ana could object, the import of what he'd said struck them both.

They stared at each other, seeing a dawning of both dread and hope.

"Hotch's memory…Ana, do you think…"

"Maybe…But, how…"

"I don't know, but…should we?"

Ana shook her head. A definite negative. "Not 'we,' Spencer. You. If going into his mind has a residual effect, then only one of us should do it. And, well, you know the way…and him. You don't need me this time."

Reid nodded. He sensed the truth of what she said.

"But I could damage him even more."

"No, Spencer. You don't damage. You save. It's who you are."

Reid swallowed. Hardly believing what he was about to propose, he went in search of Morgan.


	51. Invitation vs Invasion

When David Rossi arrived at the hospital, he was ready to flash his badge and bristle and demand to see Hotch, regardless of visiting hours.

It was late in the evening. The nurse on duty wasn't prepared to handle the man who threatened to invade every room until he found his friend. She called the doctor at home, apologizing for interrupting his dinner, but unsure how to deal with the intruder. Rossi had been considering demanding Hotch be air-lifted to a larger, more modern facility. But when the old physician had walked the two blocks from his home back to his workplace, Rossi changed his mind. This rural facility wasn't so bad after all. Not with a doctor who was so adept at defusing worry and placating the tyrannical behavior Rossi knew he was exhibiting.

Without his standard uniform of white lab coat, without a stethoscope hanging around his neck, Rossi didn't recognize the older gentleman who approached him as anything other than someone's grandfather. _And if __**he's**__ here to visit someone, there's no reason I can't see Aaron._ But when a hand was extended and he introduced himself as the doctor on-call, Rossi felt a little ashamed of throwing his weight around.

"I understand, Mr. Rossi. Please believe your friend's life is as precious to me as it is to you. And I guarantee he'll be fine…_as long as his entourage lets him rest_, that is." The way he peered over his half-moon glasses gave his admonishment a touch of humor. But Rossi was still worried. And the doctor could see that. This simple man considered it his duty to treat not only patients, but everyone who entered his hospital on their behalf, trailing along in the wake of someone's illness or accident.

"I've given your…Aaron, is it?" Rossi nodded. "…something to make him sleep. I didn't let your colleagues disturb him earlier when they said they had to 'run something by him,' and I won't let you wake him either."

"But…" Rossi's objection was cut short as the doctor continued.

"However…" He held up a cautioning finger. "…I'll take you to him and you can sit with him for a few minutes. But then I'm sending you down the road to Millie's B&B. That's where your friends are staying." He raised his head, now studying Rossi through the lower portion of his glasses. "You look as though you could use some rest, too. So, if you'll agree to get some, I'll let you have ten minutes with your Aaron. Deal?"

Rossi expelled all his worry and frustration in a long, deflating breath. "Deal."

As the doctor escorted Rossi through the halls, he decided he might as well deliver the disappointing news he'd been saving for the morning, when the others had said they would return.

"We did the blood analysis."

Rossi's head snapped up, interest and energy somewhat revived. "And?"

"And it's as I feared. Anything he might have been given is no longer detectable. The combination of his metabolism and the medication with which we've been treating him have destroyed any…evidence?...you were hoping for. I'm sorry."

"Damn."

They stopped at the door of a darkened room. The doctor motioned for Rossi to enter. Lowering his voice, he reminded the visitor to keep things in perspective. "I know you're disappointed, but I imagine in your line of business you figured out long ago that outcome is more important than evidence." He smiled at the peaceful figure in the bed, one arm flung upward in the abandon of sleep. "And here's what's most important to you."

Rossi moved to the bedside. He noted the immobilized leg, the glistening patches of ointment covering scrapes and scratches. But most of all he saw easy, restful sleep. He turned back to his escort. "Thank you, Doctor. May I stay? I won't wake him."

The doctor chuckled. "Honestly, I don't think you could if you tried. He needs this too much to let someone pull him out of it just yet. As I said, you can have ten minutes. That should be enough time to reassure yourself he's okay…or to say anything you need to say. Then I'm sending you to the B&B."

The doctor turned away. He'd wait until he'd seen this newcomer off before going home to resume his own interrupted dinner. While he was waiting, he called Millie's B&B, asking her to prepare for another guest.

And, yes, he understood four was her limit.

And, no, he didn't think the sudden, inexplicable influx of tourists would run to more than that.

But if it did, he was sure the boy and girl who had 'couple' written all over them wouldn't object to rooming together.

He hung up on Millie's outraged spluttering at such an improper suggestion, trying hard to muffle his own laughter as he visualized the plump matron standing guard to ensure nothing scandalous took place with so many dangerous young hormones under her roof.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi relaxed for the first time since Morgan had insisted they drive nonstop from Quantico to some godforsaken monastery in the middle of nowhere. _Well, maybe not 'godforsaken.' After all, it __**is**__ a monastery._

He watched Aaron sleep. After a few minutes, he admitted the wisdom of the doctor's advice about getting some rest himself. He brushed his lips lightly over Hotch's forehead, giving him a fatherly goodnight kiss. At the doorway, he sent up a silent 'thank you' for his friend's survival. With a final yawn, Rossi went in search of Millie's Bed & Breakfast.

_Shouldn't be too hard to find. Not in a town with all its businesses lined up along one street._

Nonetheless, he was pleasantly surprised when the old country doctor was waiting in the lobby to point him in the right direction.

By the time he reached the homey-looking, antiquated, Victorian house, he was happy to let Millie guide him to his room, chattering about how he'd have to share the bathroom with three…can you imagine: three!...other guests.

It was late. The others seemed to have retired for the day, so Rossi did the same.

It seemed he'd only closed his eyes when he was roused by knocking on his door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What!?" Rossi fought to free himself from the tangle of unfamiliar bedding.

"It's Morgan!"

"Gimme a minute."

"We'll be downstairs….Better hurry or there won't be any breakfast left!"

Rossi didn't take the threat very seriously, but, just in case, he hurried anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, when he joined Morgan, Reid, and the girl he supposed was Ana, he found them deep in hushed conversation. Clearly, they were trying to keep the subject matter from falling into their hostess' ears. Equally as obvious, Millie was doing her best to eavesdrop. When she wasn't appearing at a shoulder 'just checking' to see if more toast or coffee was needed, she was swiping a cloth at already dust-free surfaces that happened to be in close proximity to the dining room table.

Rossi watched her eyes widen as he displayed his badge and asked her to give them some privacy. "FBI matters to discuss, Ma'am. I'm sure you understand ."

After she fled to the kitchen, Rossi took a seat. Morgan stifled a laugh. "You just gave her a story she'll be circulating for at least the next decade." He smiled as he continued demolishing a plateful of scrambled eggs. "You just may have become the stuff of legend, Mr. FBI-man."

"Yes, I'm sure I'll be the subject of fireside chat for generations to come." Rossi poured himself some coffee before giving the details about how he'd left Dr. Bescardi.

Reid looked pensive. "Do you think her memory'll be affected the way Hotch's was?"

"Don't know. Don't much care." Rossi forked a sausage onto his plate. "I'm more interested in Hotch's anyway. I stopped by to look in on him before coming here last night." A chorus of raised eyebrows demanded elaboration. "He was resting easy. Doctor seemed to think he'd be fine, but…"

"But what?" Morgan was alert, sensing bad news. Rossi noticed Reid and Ana had mirrored Morgan's concern for an instant, but had exchanged looks and settled back and though they already knew what was coming next.

_Maybe they do at that. Weird._ He shook off a momentary chill and continued. "But the blood sample isn't going to help us. Nothing showed up." Rossi sighed. "It was a long shot, anyway."

"Well…about that." Reid looked anxious, uncomfortable and eager all at once. A smile for the emotional clumsiness of youth ghosted across Rossi's lips, but he gave the doctor his full attention. "We were talking…" Reid glanced at Ana, who nodded encouragement at him. "…and maybe there's a way to bring Hotch's memory back. Maybe. Sort of. I mean, if it's okay…"

"Reid! You're starting to babble. That's Garcia's thing. Focus." Rossi allowed himself a small ray of hope. _If anyone can come up with an unexpected, creative solution…it'll be Reid._

"I…I _might_ be able to go into Hotch's mind and kind of, you know…give him a nudge. Maybe." Reid looked around the table. Ana radiated concerned support. Morgan had looked spooked when Reid had first mentioned the idea the day before. He still did. Rossi seemed hopeful, but wary.

Rossi studied his young colleague. _He's nervous. But if there's a chance…_ "Okay, Dr. Reid. Let's go see Hotch."

"But one more thing, guys." The collective move to rise from their seats halted. "I have to talk to Hotch first. I have to be sure he's good with this. Got it?"

"Sure, kid. We understand. It's the difference between you feeling invited or Hotch feeling invaded." Morgan struggled to appear nonchalant. He treasured Reid as a little brother and was trying his best to accept the strange talents he'd acquired.

Rossi tossed his napkin on the table. "Alright, children, let's go see our fallen leader."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the hospital not much had changed.

The day nurse paged Hotch's doctor to talk to this motley group claiming next-of-kinship before letting them see him. Rossi wondered if the doctor ever took more than a few hours off. He gave each of them a clinical look as though assessing if _they_ were well enough to endure the rigors of visiting. Apparently, they passed muster. They were told that Hotch was just waking up after nearly fifteen hours of sleep. They could visit as long as they wanted, provided the patient didn't begin to tire.

At Hotch's doorway, Ana hung back and let the others enter first. She stayed in the background, sending pulses of warm support toward Spencer.

Hotch's eyes widened at the sight of Rossi. He'd been too weak to wonder at Morgan's presence the previous day, but now he was puzzled.

"What happened? Why are you guys here?"

"Good morning. Nice to see you, too, Aaron." Rossi's grin belied the sarcasm of his words.

"Seriously,…" Hotch's face fell. "Is everything okay back home? Jack?"

"Calm down, man. Everything's fine." Morgan didn't want to see his boss ramp back up to panic mode.

"Actually, Derek here got worried. Said he didn't like the lack of reliable communication. So we thought we'd go for a little drive. See how you were. See some of the countryside."

Hotch gave them a suspicious sidelong look. He wasn't buying it.

Rossi dropped all pretense and stepped closer. "Look, Aaron, you were hurt and you almost died. Doesn't matter why we came. We're just glad we got to you in time."

Hotch let himself nestle back into his pillows. The look of confusion and discomfort that came over him at mention of his ordeal made Rossi hurry things along.

"Reid wants to try something."

"But first, we need to talk." Reid's worried eyes met Hotch's troubled ones.

Ana trailed her hand down Spencer's arm in a reassuring caress. When she left the room, Rossi and Morgan took the hint.

"You guys need some time alone. We'll be in the lobby if you need us." Rossi walked over to Hotch and smiled down at him, laying a gentle hand along one side of the angular face. "I'm glad you're okay, Aaron." He drew his hand back, shaking it as though in pain. "And you really need a shave."

Morgan gave Hotch a nod and followed the others. At the door, he turned and gave Reid a little push. "You're on, kid."

As the three made their way to the lobby, Morgan's grin grew wider. "So, Rossi. Have you met Ana?"

"No, I haven't. Not officially." Rossi gave her an appraising look and one of the warmest smiles in his repertoire. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ana."

"_Mrs. Reid_," Morgan fake-whispered.

Just loud enough to be heard.

Everything else aside, Morgan was looking forward to all sorts of opportunities to embarrass the young couple. The possibilities were endless.


	52. A Gift of Trust

Reid stood near the door to Hotch's hospital room once the others had left, his slumped posture emphasizing awkward discomfort.

"What is it, Reid?" Although his boss looked stronger, Reid could still sense pain, some fatigue, and the ever-present sadness that seemed to be the color of the fabric from which Hotch was cut. _Or else something that goes as far back as his childhood and is just part of him now._

"I wanted to talk to you alone, because, well…I'm worried. And if there's a chance I can set some things right, I want your permission to do…something." He faced Hotch from across the room, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm listening, but I don't know what you're saying, Reid." Hotch shifted position, trying to accommodate his immobilized leg. "I'm the one who screwed up. It doesn't matter what the circumstances were, I _left_ you. You and Ana. I left you guys alone…I'm sorry."

"That's part of what we need to talk about." Reid shoved his hands into his pockets and moved a couple steps closer. "You don't remember what happened. But it wasn't your fault, and, as far as I can tell, you didn't have a choice. Hotch, the woman drugged you and drove you into the woods. She _left_ you there." Reid's voice rose, his anger giving it volume. "You were _hurt_ and she _left_ you there."

"You saw her do this?"

Reid nodded, but the shadowed look in his eyes told Hotch it wasn't quite that simple.

"I saw it the way, you know…I _see_ things." In the face of Hotch's silence, Reid elaborated. "Ana saw it, too. We touched Dr. Bescardi together and saw what she did to you."

Hotch had disconnected. He was looking at some internal landscape, eyes darting from side to side, trying to validate what he was hearing. But there was no memory to let him do so. Reid felt his leader's frustration growing. After a few minutes, Hotch shook his head.

"I just don't know. Again, I'm sorry. Where's Bescardi anyway?"

Reid shrugged. "Rossi dealt with her. But there's a whole legal mess brewing. What she did was…" he paused, trying to regroup his thoughts and stay on track. "The bottom line is that your testimony is the missing link if we want to stop her. And I _really_ want her stopped. God, Hotch, she almost killed you!"

Reid looked away for a moment before continuing. "Hotch, I might be able to help you remember, but…" He swallowed a growing lump of fear that had decided to lodge in his throat. "…but I don't know for sure if it'll work, and I'm scared of…stuff."

The profiler in Hotch pricked up its ears. With a grunt, he pulled himself up, using the pillows at his back to help prop himself into a more alert sitting position.

"What are you afraid of?" No response. "Reid? You can tell me." The expression on his youngest agent's face tugged at Hotch's heart. _So much talent. So much intellect. And still…he doubts himself._

He blanched when the faintest whisper of a voice, not his own, wafted through his mind: _So do you, Hotch._

Reid saw shock and fear despite Hotch's ability to control his facial expressions. Reid closed his eyes and bent his head, unable to make eye contact. "See? _That's_ what I'm afraid of. And you should be, too. It's _changing. _It's _growing_. _Evolving._

Reid felt panic in Hotch's mind…but only for a moment. What came next was part a gargantuan effort to overcome fear, and part Hotch reminding himself who was standing before him, looking dejected and suffering the harshest self-criticism of his young life. Mostly, Reid felt an undercurrent of Hotch's fierce desire to help. He could hear his boss telling himself over and over, almost chanting it, that the unknown is only frightening until you step into it and transform it into the known.

But beneath the maelstrom of rapidly morphing thoughts and emotions, the one constant, the thing that made Reid finally look up and take another step closer…was a powerful, protective love. The kind of love that underscored Hotch's willingness to give his life for any member of his team, should the need arise. The kind of love that made it possible for him to trust Reid more than Reid trusted himself.

"Okay. I get it. You can read me…I already knew that, sort of. And now I guess you can _speak_ to me, too. Is that it?"

"Kind of." Reid closed his eyes again. He didn't want to see Hotch's reaction to his next words. "It's not so much that I can speak to you…to your mind. It's that _you_ can read _me_ now, too." After the space of several heartbeats, Reid risked looking up. Hotch was blank. "Oh, God, Hotch. I think maybe I've _changed_ you in some way. And I wouldn't wish what I am on anyone…especially you. You're so _right_…you fit in so _well_ for what you do and who you are. I'd never want to make you a …" He bit his lower lip to stop himself, but it was too late. The word was in his mind, standing tall and glowing with self-hatred.

And his boss 'saw' it.

"A _freak_, Reid?" Hotch's voice was gentle. He sighed, letting his head fall back onto the stacked pillows behind him. "I thought we were past all that." He observed the young doctor through weary, half-lowered lids. "I guess not. C'mere. Sit." He patted a space on the bed beside him.

Reid took a cautious perch at the very edge.

When he'd gathered his thoughts, Hotch began.

"So the problem is you think you've changed me?" Reid nodded. He picked up a small trill of humor…or was it irony?...from Hotch's mind…like a grace note, brief and unexpected. It made him take a sharp look at the Unit Chief.

"Reid, you're so smart…you know so much, that sometimes I forget you don't have the perspective to go along with all that learning. You can know things, without _owning_ them. It's the difference between intellect and experience. So, even though it sounds like a platitude and your brain understands, here's something you don't _own_ yet…but you will when you've lived longer: change is unavoidable. The only way to prevent change is to die. And I'd rather not do that just yet. I won't lie. Hell, what good would it do? You'd be able to tell." And regardless of uncertainty and fear, Hotch smiled.

"What you can do, and whatever residual effect it's having on me, _is_ kinda creeping me out. Actually, it's more than creepy. Honestly, right now, Reid, I'm not sure I'm awake. Or sane. It's that weird to me. And I don't want it any more than you do…whatever _it _ is.

"But I trust you. It's as simple as that."

Reid didn't have any words, and he was feeling too much to send a clear mental message. When Hotch still saw conflict and distress in his friend's face, he reached out. Reid felt long, strong fingers wrap around his wrist. Before he could react, Hotch brought Reid's hand to his chest and placed it over his heart. He covered it with his own, holding it captive, not letting Reid pull away.

"I'll say it again, Reid. I trust you. I'm not afraid _of_ you. I'm afraid _for_ you. I'm afraid _with_ you." Hotch sighed, leaned back and let himself relax, half-reclining, still holding Reid's hand to his chest. "See for yourself."

Reid didn't think Hotch knew about the mark on his chest, but he didn't think it was the right time to tell him. He could feel his leader's heart pounding against the palm of his hand and knew Hotch was scared. He could also feel the increased rate of respiration as the chest rose and fell more rapidly than usual.

But he also saw what Hotch was doing. He was surrendering, despite the fear his body was broadcasting. It was an act of trust. It sprang from the same place that told him Hotch would lay down his life for his team.

It was such a tremendous gift, Reid couldn't reject it.

He pressed his hand tighter against the heart that accepted him just as he was, freakish flaws and all, and…entered.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch's doctor stood in the hallway just outside his room, charts in hand. He'd been making his rounds when he heard voices and stopped to listen. He had no qualms about eavesdropping. He never used the information he gathered unless it could help.

He waited until there was silence before peeking around the doorjamb. There was his patient, Aaron, holding the visitor's hand against his chest. Both men's eyes were closed. Both had brows furrowed in deep concentration.

The doctor decided against interrupting.

He reached in, grasped the knob and pulled the door closed. Quietly.

Some things were best not disturbed.

He continued on his rounds, thinking about what he'd seen.

_And here I thought it was the girl. _He gave his head a rueful shake. _Must be getting old. Ah, well. It happens to the best of us._ His smile grew a bit more cheerful.

_At least they won't question my telling them their boy had that mark on his chest already…before I saw him._

He put the matter out of his mind for the time being. He had other patients to attend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi slitted her eyes open just enough to admit light and wondered why she felt so stiff. It was as though every muscle had been pushing against something. _Isometric exertion._ She couldn't remember working out or doing anything particularly physical that would account for the soreness. In fact, the last physical thing she'd done was shove that annoying FBI agent into his car. _And that wasn't so hard; the guy was skinny under all those layers of suit._

Her eyes flew wide.

_My test subjects! Dr. Reid…Ana! My work!_

She sat up, looking around the refectory. She had no idea why she was on top of one of the tables. And then, she saw the cup of coffee Rossi had left for her.

_Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…_

Fighting a wave of nausea, wobbling legs, and a jaw that felt as though it had been kicked by a mule, Bescardi searched the monastery rooms that had been in use.

They were in a shambles. Everything had been ransacked, searched. All of her data, every scrap, whether printed out or filed on drives…was gone. Her test subjects had disappeared. The only sign that they had been there at all were the stacked mattresses they'd assembled, all huddled together as though she was some kind of monster to be fended off, instead of a dedicated scientist.

When she realized she was utterly alone, she looked for the keys to her van. They were in her pocket. A comforting sign of order. But when she stumbled to the courtyard and saw that the vandalism extended to her only means of transportation, she plopped down on the dusty ground and stared at the wreckage.

She had no idea what had happened after ridding the premises of that guard-dog Hotchner. She vaguely recalled sitting up during the night…_How long ago was that?_...and poring over test results that were nothing less than miraculous. But there it ended. Clearly, something catastrophic had happened. _But what? Why?_

Unable to put the pieces together. Unable to leave or make phone contact. Unable to salvage the data that would have rocketed her to prominence; that would have shaken the science world… _no! that would have shaken __**humanity**_…to its core, Dr. Bescardi returned to the refectory. She sat at the table on which she'd awakened and stared at the cold cup of coffee. Judging by the brown ring inside the rim of the cup, some had evaporated. With nothing else to do, she went to the kitchen and poured another cup of the dark liquid.

Dr. Bescardi planned to watch the level of liquid decrease as it released its molecules into the dry mountain air. When the brown ring inside the rim of cup number two matched that of cup number one as it had appeared at the moment she had wakened, she would know how long she had been unconscious. Maybe.

It was a hell of a way to conduct an experiment. Not nearly precise enough. Too many uncontrolled variables. And uncontrolled variables were the worst enemies of scientific validity.

_Like Dr. Reid and Ana. Uncontrolled. Disrespectful, short-sighted rogue-subjects._

_They'll pay for this._


	53. Journey Through a Strange Land

Reid went softly.

This time he felt a certain familiarity with Hotch's mind. There were landmarks he remembered from previous visits. Overall, it was still ordered and pleasant and…_So nice_, he breathed.

_Why, thank you!_

Mentally, Reid startled. _Hotch?_

_You expecting someone else? Wait! Don't answer that: I remember last time._

The wry humor surprised him. Hotch rarely displayed any, but here and now, Reid felt he was almost surrounded by a sort of playfulness.

_You weren't like this the last couple times I was in here._

_I wasn't myself last time. Remember? That Brandenhoff guy was making me sick. _There was a pause that twisted onto itself like a question mark. _Wait! Wha'd'you mean 'couple times'? Is there something you aren't telling me, Reid?_

_Hotch, I'm sorry. I was thinking about Bescardi and your memory and stuff and, well, I forgot to tell you._

_What?_

_When you were lost in the woods, Ana and I went after you. We wouldn't let you leave._

The pause this time had a roughened texture, like grit. Somehow Reid knew Hotch was mulling things over; chewing on them. Things that he'd forgotten or buried and chose to ignore. But these memories were much more accessible than the ones wiped by Bescardi's drugs.

_By 'leave,' do you mean 'die'?_

Reid sent a pulse of affirmation. _Can you remember?_

The answer was low and had a touch of shame clinging to it. _I was tired. Everything hurt. But worst was being so alone…lost. Lonely._ The playfulness was gone. Reid was sorry to feel it leave. The sadness he thought of as almost synonymous with Hotch re-established its dominance. Reid tried to dampen his regret for the lost mirth. It was more important to hear what Hotch was communicating.

_I kind of went numb. It was so much easier. It made the pain bearable. And something was telling me everything would be better if I just…let…go. _A flash of confusion swept by. _Was that you, Reid?_

_No. I don't know __**what**__ that was. What happened then?_ Silence. _Hotch?_

_I'm thinking... I heard Jack's name. Every time I did, I had to come back to see why his name was there in a place I wanted to leave. I couldn't move on if Jack, even just his name, was there. It made leaving hard. Every time I tried to let go, Jack sort of…echoed…at me. Was __**that**__ you?_

_Yes._

_And then something warm came. It was like, I don't know…being wrapped in arms I couldn't see. It made everything easier to bear…the pain and the loneliness. _Another silence. _But, Reid, it didn't feel like you._

_It was more than me. It was Ana, too. _Reid felt Hotch's discomfort. There was a slight shiver of almost-hysteria at the edges. _Hotch? Are you okay?_

_No._

_What is it? What's wrong?_

_Everything! You're right. I'm not meant for this kind of thing. I'm scared. I'm scared._

_Hotch! You never give up! You never get scared!_

_I get scared a LOT, Reid! I just hide it. I can't hide from you here, and that scares me even more._

Reid was beginning to panic. He couldn't tell if it was his own genuine emotion or if he was being overrun by Hotch's near terror. He thought if he'd ever known his leader could be so frightened, he'd have done something long ago. Something stupid and useless, but comforting. Like hugging him or just putting a hand on his shoulder. He wished with all his heart that he could do that now.

Reid thought he felt a small, sad whimper coming from the heart of wherever Hotch was.

_Hotch? Talk to me. What's going on with you?_

_I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay._

_Hotch! Stop it! That's what you always say when you're trying to convince yourself, but you're not really alright. Tell me what's happening!_

Reid didn't know if it was imagination or his hand still on his boss' chest. But he could feel the mental equivalent of Hotch taking a breath and reaching somewhere deep inside where his self-discipline lived. Reid wished again that he could give some kind of support, comfort, warmth…And when concern for Hotch was everything; when the desire to reinforce the strength he knew lived at Hotch's core was all-consuming, he felt something…stir. It was part liquid, part light. It shifted and coalesced around him. Reid watched in stunned silence as something fierce and warm arced away from him. He couldn't really see, not in the way normal vision operated in the physical world. But he knew where the center of Hotch was and he knew the thing like sunlit honey was reaching to him, surrounding him, almost…feeding him.

_Reid, is __**that**__ you?_

_I think so. Hotch, I don't really know. Just let it in, okay? If you trust me, you can trust whatever __**it**__ is._

Reid felt a loosening, or maybe it was an unraveling. He hated how he wasn't sure of anything and once again bemoaned the lost opportunity he had thought Bescardi would offer to learn about himself. The power he'd sent toward Hotch slowed and settled. Reid's mind 'sniffed' the atmosphere of Hotch's mind. It was clearer, calmer. It reminded him of rain-washed woods in the wake of a storm. Everything was cleaner, fresher. And thinking of woods reminded him of why he was here in the first place. To help Hotch remember being drugged and abandoned.

He had a feeling his leader wouldn't be able to help. He was afraid of setting off another panic attack. Hotch was right and Reid had known it all along: he didn't belong in the same world Reid could now inhabit. And the young doctor was concerned about what would happen if he forced Hotch to become more active in this strange place they now found themselves. Even if it was the Unit Chief's own mind, he shouldn't be aware of it, of _sharing_ it the way he was now.

_Hotch, you feel a little better now, right?_

_Yeah. Sorry about that._

'_S okay. I need to look around and I think the best thing for you to do is ignore me. Can you let yourself daydream, or concentrate on something that'll keep you occupied…in a nice way?_

_I'll try. Actually, that sounds good. I don't like this, Reid._

_I know, I know. Why don't you try planning something happy? Like a vacation with Jack? Just let yourself sink into it._

'_Kay…_

Reid waited. He thought if he were physically present, he'd be holding his breath. After a while, he thought he could 'see' a change. Tension lessened and what passed for vision sharpened.

Reid recalled how once before he had been able to 'find' the taint the serial killer, Brandenhoff, had left behind by focusing on how its essence felt. And when he'd unintentionally thought of the sorrow in Hotch's past, he had sensed it encroaching on him. Following the same logic, he built up, layer by layer, the vision he and Ana had seen of Bescardi giving Hotch a cup of coffee. They had seen him, as though through her eyes, curled into a helpless, heaving ball of vertigo and nausea. They had watched with her as she saw him struggle to escape and vanish over the edge of a cliff. And they had seen from her perspective, a torn, bleeding form lying at the bottom.

As he relived it, Reid felt himself moving. It was a smooth transition that brought him to a different landscape and left him a little disoriented at first. But he was honing his abilities. Becoming more adept at this peculiar, mental navigation.

_This must be it. This is what happened._

A small thrill of accomplishment rippled through him. Not just for his success in finding what he sought, but for the fact that the memory did indeed exist. He'd been harboring a secret dread that the drug and Hotch's subsequent ordeal might have obliterated it entirely.

_But if it's here, there has to be a way to bring it back._

Reid surveyed the damaged segment of Hotch's mind. It was like looking through a pane of glass that had warped and thickened. He could tell there were images on the other side, but they were unrecognizable. A pang of anxiety hit him. He tamped it down, worried that it might affect Hotch and set off another bout of panic.

_Okay. I found what I was looking for. Whatever I do now, I have to do slowly, gently. Don't want to shock Hotch with any sudden moves. But, how…?_

He stared at the obscured memory and tried to recognize it by comparing it to what he knew had happened. And that was the key.

The more Reid understood what the altered images had been, the clearer they became in Hotch's mind. It felt like chipping something out of an giant ice cube, revealing it bit by bit.

Reid bent the considerable force of his own intellect on the task, reigning it in when it threatened to move too quickly, and watched the memory gradually emerge.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hotch did his best to block out all distractions.

As Reid was building his own images layer by layer, Hotch did the same. But his were of taking Jack to a beach.

It was a camping trip. He began with packing the car and driving to the shore. By the time he reached the point where it was nightfall and they were roasting marshmallows over a fire, he'd virtually put himself in a trance.

When Reid called him, he needed a moment to separate one mental state for the other. But the young doctor was learning at a phenomenal pace.

_Hotch? Hotch! _ Reid surrounded his leader's consciousness and gently drew it along to the place where he'd uncovered the lost memory. It stood before him sharp and clear, but he muffled Hotch. Slowly, standing by in case support was needed, Reid let the images come into focus for his friend.

And when the entire landscape was revealed, he felt Hotch shudder in recognition.

_Remember?_

_Yes. God, I __**hate**__ her, Reid._

_Me, too. Let's get her._


	54. A Healing Touch

After Hotch's memory had been recovered, Reid sat beside him. In the wake of such an intimate journey, he wanted to be sure there were no ill aftereffects. As much as he wanted to race out to the lobby and start arrest procedures against Dr. Bescardi, he felt it was important to stay by his friend for at least a little while.

Hotch was pale and quiet. Reid wished he could find the dry wit and playfulness he now knew his leader kept hidden, and pull it out for everyone to see. He was sure Hotch would be happier if he let himself exhibit more of his true qualities. And he had no idea why he'd hide something so pleasant and enjoyable. Reid also knew he could find out why by accessing Hotch's thoughts. It gave him a feeling of accomplishment to realize he was beginning to understand how to block himself from outside thoughts and emotions. It meant he could protect his own mind from the cacophony of random noise, as well as grant others their right to privacy.

_I'm evolving._ He watched Hotch's downcast eyes. _But at what price?_

Reid knew better than to ask Hotch how he was. He'd just say 'okay' no matter what. He didn't want to push either. So he chose a question that went just a tiny bit deeper than the standard 'how are you?'

"Hotch, what are you thinking?"

One side of the man's mouth quirked upward in a half-salute to irony. "Can't you tell?"

Reid shrugged. "I guess. But I'm starting to learn how to keep to myself a little better. I won't get into your mind unless you want me too."

Something sad in the young doctor's voice made Hotch look up. He studied the concerned, brown eyes, using his profiler's ability to access another's inner landscape. "I bet you've been keeping to yourself almost all your life, haven't you." It wasn't a question. It was sympathetic acknowledgement.

Reid nodded. "I always had to hide stuff or people would use it against me."

"Like…?"

"Like being smarter than everyone else. Like having an eidetic memory. Like being weird." He looked down at his hands, clasping and unclasping, telegraphing his discomfort. "Like having a dad who left and a mom who was crazy. Certifiably crazy."

"But you loved her anyway. And you stayed to take care of her. You're _still_ taking care of her." Reid nodded again, but didn't look up. "You're very loyal, Reid."

After a few beats of silence, Hotch decided if he couldn't talk to this strange genius who had turned concealment into a lifestyle, who had seen what his leader kept hidden from the rest of the team and the rest of the world, then he'd never be able to talk to anyone about it.

"I was scared, Reid. You could have left, but you didn't. You did that…thing…I don't know what it was…and you stayed with me."

That made Reid look up. "When you said you get frightened a lot, I couldn't leave you. It just made me realize how brave you really are. You face down fear for us…for the team. Right?"

Hotch let himself lay back and rest against the mounded pillows. "That's different. That's enemies and unsubs and mostly it's the possibility of losing one of you that scares me. This was different."

"How?"

"There was no escape. None. No escape and no end. I was trapped in my own mind and there was no way out. And yet, even if it was _my own mind_, I felt alien. Like an intruder." He brought both hands up to his face and rubbed his temples. "The thought of being trapped like that forever was the most frightening thing I've ever felt. No one can save you." Hotch froze. When he lowered his hands and locked eyes with Reid, the look of tragic realization was unmistakable.

"Oh, God, Reid…That's what you meant when you called yourself a coward. When you blamed yourself for not jumping into Arthur Brandenhoff's mind without hesitation. That's what you were afraid of, wasn't it?! That's what you meant when you said no one could have your back!" Hotch watched Reid chew on his lip and stare at the floor.

When he spoke again, the Unit Chief's voice was as stern, as angry, as…savage…as Reid had ever heard it. "Don't you _dare_ ever call Spencer Reid a coward again. That's a direct order. Do you hear me?" Reid nodded.

"Do we understand each other, Agent?"

Reid nodded again. _Probably more than any other two people on the planet. _But he worked to keep a tiny smile at bay. Even trying to block mental access to Hotch, he couldn't help feeling the fierce, protective wave of emotion. And there was something new he'd never felt from his boss, or any of his teammates who looked on him as a quirky, little brother. It was respect. A different kind from what they accorded his intelligence.

Reid raised his chin a little higher. Hotch was giving him the respect due another alpha male. _Granted, a different __**kind**__ of alpha male._ But he knew Hotch considered him an equal for the first time.

Reid could have cried, he felt so proud.

But that would have ruined it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Wha'd'you suppose's taking them so long?" Morgan fidgeted in his seat, uninterested in the stack of dog-eared magazines from the 1990s that were the only entertainment available in the lobby.

"I guess they have a lot to sort out." Rossi crossed and uncrossed his legs. He was as bored as Morgan, but had greater patience for the imposed idleness of waiting rooms. He glanced at Ana. She alone seemed to be capable of embracing enforced inactivity. Her body was relaxed. Her eyes were unfocused, as though she was occupied with something other than visual cues. _Probably listening in on Reid and Hotch. Maybe participating in their discussion for all we know._ Rossi broke away from that particular path of speculation. It wasn't productive. And it made him a little nervous.

It was Morgan who remembered that Ana didn't enjoy being in the proximity of hospitals and the burden of emotional baggage they carried.

"Hey, Ana!" She turned toward him, but her eyes remained blank-looking. Morgan shivered. If things progressed as he hoped they would and Reid finally had a serious relationship, he didn't think he'd be in any danger of being a third wheel. They were just too…strange. _Nice and likeable…But odd._ Ana smiled as the thought passed through his mind, confirming his suspicion that he wouldn't become a nosy adjunct to the pair.

But he was concerned for her comfort nonetheless. Mostly because he wanted Reid to find some happiness, and this girl was the closest he'd come.

"If you need to get out of here, you know…take a walk or something…I'll come get you when Reid's done." The smile she gave him this time was open and warm and beautiful. He almost reconsidered labeling her 'odd.' But then…

"Thanks, Derek, but they're almost done. Spencer'll be out in a few minutes."

…and Morgan decided even double dating wouldn't be something he'd feel totally comfortable doing.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The elderly doctor had completed his rounds.

Just one patient remained to be seen. The one he'd skipped when he'd seen the young visitor place a hand on the patient's chest. He waited until the visitor left, walking purposefully toward the lobby where the rest of his friends were waiting.

Entering the room, he noticed his patient still looked weary even after nearly fifteen hours of sleep. _Probably the effect of his 'talk' with that youngster._

"How're you doing today, son?"

"Fine, doctor…?"

It took him a moment to realize he was being asked his name. He smiled and shook his head at his own forgetfulness concerning the etiquette of introductions. "Forgive me…" He glanced at the chart. "…Aaron. Or do you prefer…" He looked again. "…Mr. Hotchner?"

"Aaron's fine."

"Is he?" The doctor stepped closer, seemingly having forgotten from one moment to the next that he'd been asked his name. "Well, I think Aaron looks a little tired. And maybe his knee is still bothering him?" He laid the chart down on the bed and leaned over Hotch. "But we can fix that."

The patient's eyes widened momentarily as the doctor laid a hand across his forehead. Then Hotch's lids drifted shut. With a deep sigh, he relaxed into the bedding.

The doctor slipped his hand inside the neckline of the hospital gown. It fit perfectly against the whitened mark on the man's chest. The mark that was too large to be Ana's…too small to be Reid's.

The old physician smiled down at his patient. Names had lost meaning for him long ago. They were labels that told nothing of the person to whom they were attached. For instance, this man answered to 'Aaron,' a name that thousands shared. But through his touch, the doctor understood _this_ Aaron and knew he was kind, brave, faithful…basically a decent man. A man who wanted to do good in the world. And he needed to be healthy and fit to do the good to which he aspired.

The doctor pressed his hand tighter against the gently moving chest.

_Rest, Aaron...Heal…._

He was confident he'd be able to release this patient tomorrow.

He'd just say that Aaron was a fast healer. No need to go into details.

_Heal, Aaron…._


	55. Blood Notes

Reid was nearly running by the time he reached the lobby.

When he shot around the corner, Morgan and Rossi stood up, concerned that Hotch had taken a turn for the worse. But when Ana ran to him and wrapped him in a hug, pride beaming in her smile, they relaxed.

Not for long. Reid's next words were galvanizing.

"He remembers. Everything. How she drugged him. How she drove him away and left him. Everything."

"Do I wanna know _how_ he remembered?" Rossi stroked his beard. He was thinking about the instances of 'recovered' memory that he'd seen proven false during trial proceedings. The last thing he wanted was for Hotch to be subjected to the kind of scrutiny that called everything…honesty, sanity, integrity…into question. "I'm sorry, Reid, but I have to ask if there's _any_ chance what Hotch recalls was…implanted?"

Reid didn't seem to take offense. "Absolutely not. I swear. I saw the memories in him and all I did was free them. Clean them up. Show them to him. I didn't _create_ anything."

"Oh, man…" Morgan stepped back and braced himself with one hand against a wall. This new world Reid was part of…telepathy and empathy and _freeing memories, for God's sake!_...was just a little too alien for him. He took a breath and decided to focus on the goal, not the means to attain it. Hotch's unfettered memory meant honest testimony, which in turn meant Bescardi could be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. To help himself over the oddness of the situation, Morgan chanted a legal mantra to himself. _Kidnapping, abandonment, manufacture of an hallucinogen…Kidnapping, abandonment…_ Within seconds, he was feeling more grounded.

"So we can go arrest her, right?" Reid's eager anticipation was infectious.

Rossi glanced at his watch. It was well past midday.

"It's at least a six hour round trip. Do we want to do this now and drive back after sundown on a treacherous mountain road, or wait for tomorrow? I guarantee you, Carol's not going anywhere. She'll still be there if we wait."

Morgan and Reid shared a look. It spoke of how they'd almost lost Hotch, of how he'd looked when they found him. They answered in unison.

"Get her. Get her _now_."

Rossi's grin echoed the sentiment.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Come on, kids. Let's go for a drive."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the end Ana stayed behind.

She didn't have any experience in arresting or transporting criminal suspects. And, even though she didn't want to be apart from Spencer, she hated the thought of walking into the monastery again. Even more, she didn't want to be confined in the SUV with Dr. Bescardi. Close proximity would make her a captive audience to the twisted bitterness and warped ambition of someone she thought might actually be the proverbial mad scientist.

"Besides, someone should stay with Hotch and let him know where you guys are. Especially now he remembers what was done to him."

Reid looked at her wistfully, but understood and agreed with her reasoning.

When she reached up and brushed a shy, gentle kiss...their first…over his lips, his sad expression vanished.

"We'll be back as soon as we can."

"I'll be waiting."…_Always…_she silently reassured him.

Morgan was about to say something appropriately embarrassing when Rossi's elbow caught him in the ribs.

"Not now, Derek. Save it for later."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Bescardi was doing her best to pick up the pieces.

She spent several hours meticulously sifting through the wreckage of her ad-hoc facilities. Sadly, she reaffirmed that all her data was missing or destroyed.

Finally, disheveled and sweaty, she gathered together the few sheets of blank paper from her printer that had escaped Rossi's wrath, and found a pen. She sat in the refectory at the table upon which she'd awakened, still keeping an eye on the evaporation level in the coffee cup. Although, she'd forgotten why.

Her memory held the images of drugging Hotch and taking him far enough away so his inferior mind wouldn't interfere with her test subjects' performance. And she retained her jubilation at the outcome of the tests she'd applied to her subjects. But after that…nothing.

She accepted that the same drug she'd used on Hotchner had found its way into her coffee. The inability to recall how it had, or why, vexed her, gnawed at her. But she was proud of her mind's grasp of logic and probability. In time, she believed she could solve any equation.

She was in no immediate danger. She had shelter. There were enough provisions for at least two weeks. With nothing else to do and no interruptions likely, Dr. Bescardi began the laborious process of reconstructing her findings, using the old-fashioned method of writing everything out in longhand. She was sure such an exercise would eventually lead her to total recall. After all, her mind was exceptional. And exceptional people could slip the bonds that restricted the ordinary. _I __**will**__ prevail. I __**will**__._

Hours passed. Pages were filled. She ignored the cramping in her hand. Science demanded sacrifice and the protest of tiny muscles unaccustomed to such primitive record-keeping was a small price to pay. Despite the lack of dedication demonstrated by the flight of her test subjects, she was confident she could still set the science community on its ear.

The day was growing old when the sound of an approaching vehicle broke through the woodland quiet, but not through the doctor's fierce concentration.

The slamming car doors failed to rouse her.

The sharp echoing report of shoes against stone floors went unnoticed.

It wasn't until the third or fourth repetition of her name that she stopped writing and turned to see what sort of ignorant lackey dared interrupt this important work.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Carol? Carol!" Rossi frowned at the wild-haired figure in the soiled lab coat. It's back was to them and it was crouched over a sheet of paper, fingers clutched tightly around a pen.

Morgan and Reid exchanged wary, questioning looks with the older agent. Reid found the transformation in Dr. Bescardi's physical appearance disturbing. Even in the dusty, isolated monastery, she'd usually managed to present a fastidious façade. In fact, he'd even entertained the stray thought once or twice that she and Hotch held themselves to the same code of personal grooming. Always neat. Always professional. Always turned out with a certain amount of pride in their looks.

"Carol?" Rossi was closest, but still stayed beyond reach; a precaution in case this alleged kidnapper did anything unexpected. _Like serve us coffee._

When she snapped her head around, the three agents were confronted by eyes that glinted at them out of the shadows.

"_What!_ Can't you see I'm busy?" She frowned and peered more closely at the intruders. "David!" Lips devoid of her signature ruby lipstick tightened over teeth. "So nice to see you. I'll be with you shortly, but I must finish getting this thought down, yes? You understand." She turned back to her work and continued her industrious scribbling.

Morgan moved to the side, hand on his gun. Something was setting off his alarms. He wanted a clear line of fire…just in case. Rossi looked back to where Reid was standing perfectly still with a puzzled expression on his face.

"Reid? What do you think?" The older agent lifted a wry eyebrow. "Or maybe I should ask 'what does _she_ think?'"

Reid shook his head and blinked, trying to clear his mind of the chaotic blurs assaulting it. He needed the equivalent of a blank slate so he could try again. A tiny thrill of panic shot through him. The part of Bescardi's brain that had been precise, regimented rank-and-file, was gone. When he and Ana had entered it before, it had been disturbing, but not…_this_. If anything organized remained, it was buried beneath indecipherable, random images and cries.

In and of itself, it didn't scare him. But the fact that this could happen in a matter of hours, left a coppery taste of terror in his mouth. _Such a short step between sane and insane. Such a brief interval between functional and frightening._ Thoughts of his mother, and dread of the tyranny of inheritance and the unavoidable gene structure to which he might be heir, ghosted through him.

"Reid?" Rossi was waiting for an answer.

"I…I don't know. I'm not getting anything I can hold onto." He turned troubled eyes toward Rossi. "It's like her brain is in pieces and made of…I don't know…_oil_ or something. I can't get ahold of it. It keeps slipping away."

Rossi stepped closer, positioning himself directly behind Bescardi's shoulder.

"Carol, you have the right to remain…" He broke off in the process of mirandizing her.

Morgan and Reid saw him frown and lean closer to the pages the doctor was filling with script.

"Reid…Morgan…"

The two agents approached with caution. All three watched as the crabbed hand continued to scrawl, filling page after page.

**The truth is in the blood. The truth is in the blood. The truth is in the…**

"What the hell does _that_ mean…?" Morgan stood back after realizing those were the only words Bescardi had thought worthy of recording. Page after page after page.

"I have no idea." Aside from his horrified expression, Reid's only response was to shake his head back and forth in slow denial.

"Reid. I forgot to give you this." As the young doctor looked down, Rossi reached into his pocket, withdrawing something small. He pressed the flash drive, the only remaining testament to Bescardi's discovery, into Reid's hand. "Maybe you'll find an explanation on it…maybe not. I don't really know."

"And I don't _want_ to know." Morgan produced a pair of handcuffs and resumed reciting the Miranda rights to Carol Bescardi.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After the others had left, Ana took a break from the miasma of pain and sorrow that surrounded the hospital.

She walked from one end of town to the other…a journey that took roughly ten minutes at a leisurely pace that included several long pauses to appreciate the local scenery. When she returned, she went to Hotch's room.

The door was closed, but as she reached to open it, she came face to face with the elderly physician, on his way out from treating the Unit Chief. He smiled down at her and stepped aside to allow her entrance.

"He's asleep, but I wouldn't be surprised if he wakes up once he feels someone sitting beside him. Go on in, Miss." His benevolent smile and an affectionate pat on her back ushered her to Hotch's bedside.

Ana hesitated, looking back over her shoulder as the doctor left. There was _something_…_something about him_…but she didn't know what. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. It puzzled her, but not in a disturbing way.

She smiled at what she decided was her own foolish fancy and stood over Hotch.

Her smile faded.

Where she had expected to see cuts, scrapes and scratches…there was pale, newly-healed flesh. Where his knee had been a swollen symphony of purple and black…there was a normal-sized knee blemished only by the faint greenish yellow of receding bruises.

She frowned and looked at his face. It was peaceful. Serene, even. While she was puzzling out how he could heal so quickly, she remembered mention of the odd imprint on his chest. Without knowing she was mimicking Morgan's actions earlier, she lifted the neckline of the hospital gown. Bending close, she peered under the fabric.

As far as she could tell, the skin was of uniform color. She saw nothing remarkable. _Maybe it's farther down._ She pulled the cloth higher, almost inserting her nose beneath it.

She froze as Hotch's voice rumbled at her, his breath stirring her hair.

"Why is it that every time I wake up, someone's peeking under my gown?"


	56. A Call in the Night

On the way back, Reid drove, Rossi occupied the passenger seat and Morgan drew the unpleasant duty of sitting in the back, guarding Dr. Bescardi.

Her lips moved incessantly, but she refused to respond to direct questions or any other verbal stimulus. Rossi had burned the sheaf of papers proclaiming over and over that answers were to be found in blood.

They all knew who's blood the doctor was referencing.

Reid concentrated on driving. He went as fast as he could considering the absence of streetlamps and lane markings. He tried to keep the nervous anticipation he felt whenever he thought of the flash drive Rossi had given him under control. _Whatever's on it isn't going to disappear. Get back safely first._ But it was hard. In only one day of testing, he didn't think Bescardi would have discovered much. Then again… He glanced in the rear view mirror.

"How's it going back there, Morgan?"

"I won't lie, kid. I'll be glad to get your doc locked up. She's nuts!" Morgan sighed as he watched Bescardi's lips. He thought she might be endlessly repeating the line she'd been writing. About blood. About Reid's blood. About Ana's. "Bothers me, though, that she might get off with an insanity plea. I was kinda liking the thought of her working in a prison laundry. Or kitchen. You know, something to make her think about how far away she'd gotten from a research lab."

Rossi looked over his shoulder and observed the doctor for a minute. "Oh, don't worry, Morgan, I think she's about as far away from a research lab as it's possible to get already." He turned to more practical matters. "Did you let J.J. and the others know what was going on?"

"Yeah. I called them before you got back last night. Caught an earful from Garcia about 'unnecessary risks' and 'abandoning tech support' even if it's a non-tech situation. But J.J.'s the one I'll have to take out for lunch or something."

"Why's that?"

"She's the one who has to explain to Strauss why only half the team'll show up for work tomorrow." Morgan edged a little farther away from their prisoner, pressing himself against the side of the SUV. "We'll have to check with her before we get back. So we can keep our stories straight."

"You're right. We dodged the bullet once. We don't wanna get Strauss all riled up again…looking for a reason to come down on Hotch." He rubbed weary eyes before glancing at Reid. "We've had some team secrets in the past, but _this_ one tops them all."

The ride continued in silence as the night deepened.

No one noticed that Dr. Bescardi's eyes had narrowed and her lips had stopped moving at mention of Erin Strauss' name.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ana jerked back as though she'd been electrocuted.

"Hotch! I'm sorry! I thought you were asleep…uh,…not that I'd peek at you while you're sleeping…I mean…that's not what I was doing…I mean…." She arrested her babble-reflex when she realized Hotch was trying rather unsuccessfully to hide a grin. And when she opened up enough to sense him, she was relieved to find amusement rather than outrage.

As he let his smile come completely out into the open, she returned it with an apologetic one of her own.

"I'm sorry. I was just…checking…something."

Hotch raised one eyebrow. "I can save you the trouble. I've got the same parts most guys do." He adopted a concerned frown. "At least, I did last time I checked." Ana laughed as he pulled up the neck of the gown and pretended to take inventory of his body. "Okay…two of those…two of those…_one_ of that…"

"Hotch, stop!" He did and fixed her with a cocky look that gradually faded. Ana felt the change in his mood and touched his hand. It would have been easy to speak of things deep and meaningful, but she got the feeling that he wasn't ready for that kind of conversation. So she went with the other feeling she got from him. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

"I'll go see what I can find, okay?"

He nodded, his smile returning. "And Ana?"

She stopped at the door and looked back.

"I'm glad you're here. And I'm glad for Reid."

She ducked her head at the joyous little leap in her heart. Turning away, she went in search of the least objectionable hospital food she could find.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hours after dark, the SUV and its four passengers pulled into town.

It took the agents a moment to realize their dilemma: this fly-speck on the map didn't have a police force, let alone a jail. After some spirited discussion which included Morgan's suggestion that they just leave Bescardi cuffed and in the back seat, Rossi had them pull up to the hospital again.

He strode into the lobby, finding the night nurse and her minimal staff gathered around the reception desk, talking quietly, finding entertainment in small-town gossip.

"And Millie says they're _real_ FBI agents! All of them!"

"She tol' me they've all got _guns_, too."

"What're they doing here?"

"One of 'em got hurt."

"You mean that guy in 312?"

"He's kinda cute, don'cha think?"

Rossi cleared his throat, causing a flurry of activity as two orderlies and a janitor scurried away. It was all very well to discuss the strangers in town, but no one other than the head physician seemed truly comfortable in their company. A whole generation of movies and cop shows had left behind a legacy of wariness. But to her credit, the night nurse remained professional.

"You seem to like coming by after visiting hours are over!" She smiled and wondered if she'd need to call the old doctor at home, should this man need handling again.

"Well, this time it's official business. I need to conscript one of your rooms for a prisoner."

The nurses eyes threatened to bug out past the point of being able to return to their sockets.

"A…a _prisoner_?"

Rossi could see no progress would be made in the face of fear. He looked at his feet for a moment. When he resumed eye contact with the nurse, he did his best sheepish, chagrined and taking-you-into-my-confidence impression.

"Maybe 'prisoner' is too harsh a term. It's actually just someone,… a woman…who's a little…you know…" He twirled his index finger at his temple; the time-honored gesture for 'bat-crap crazy.'

"We just need someplace she can rest tonight. Tomorrow, we'll take her where she can get help…the kind she needs…_special_ help." He saw sympathy had replaced the nurse's previous alarm. "Can you help us? Please?"

She looked into Rossi's earnest, brown eyes and thought she understood. Nothing was really wrong here; just people lending a helping hand. And wasn't that what officers of the law did? When you got right down to it, FBI agents were just police officers on a different level, that's all.

"I'll see what I can do, sir."

Rossi exhaled as the nurse walked away, ostensibly to make up a room for one more overnight guest.

He wasn't sure how he'd explain leaving fully-armed Morgan standing guard outside the door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morgan didn't know what to make of the version of Dr. Bescardi that they escorted into her own private hospital room.

She had stopped mumbling. She was docile enough, but something about her made him think she was a bit more aware of things…her situation and its implications…than they'd assumed. When she asked to make a phone call, he was sure of it. He didn't know why she had rallied, but she had.

Rossi and Reid had been on the point of leaving for a few hours rest at the B&B when Bescardi made her request for a phone from the doorway of her room. The agents exchanged looks, but when Rossi nodded, Morgan fished his cell out of his pocket and gave it to her, albeit with a look of suspicious reluctance.

"It is my right, yes? After being arrested? So I may call my office, yes?"

"Yes, Carol." Rossi looked sad. Despite everything she'd done, it bothered him to see what he'd considered a fine mind and an attractive woman degenerate to this extent. "Make your call."

Bescardi retreated into a corner and squinted at the keypad.

The three agents began to relax. For all intents and purposes, their adventure was almost over.

"I'll come spell you in a couple hours." Rossi preferred he and Morgan split the guard duty. He wanted Reid to spend as little time as possible near their culprit.

"Sounds goo…"

They were interrupted by a sharp expletive from Bescardi.

"_Damn !_" She looked up almost apologetically. "I misdialed. This dim lighting, yes? I may try again?"

Rossi nodded. The agents resumed talking.

No one noticed that the doctor had actually succeeded making her first call. She had dialed information. It had taken a few minutes, but she had found the number she was looking for. After all, she'd used it once before…called the person once before…after exhaustive searching through the banks of numbers attributed to the FBI.

Having been given permission for a second call, she wasted no time. She would keep her voice low. None of these stupid, inferior, guard-dogs…nor the infinitely superior, but regrettably misguided Dr. Reid…would overhear the message she planned to leave.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Late at night, deep within the FBI offices at Quantico, Erin Strauss' phone rang. The call went straight to voicemail.


	57. Message From the Mad

Rossi overslept.

He groaned as he realized he'd missed relieving Morgan of guard duty. As soon as he rubbed the gritty remains of insufficient sleep out of his eyes, he rolled over in bed, grabbed his phone and called his colleague down at the hospital to apologize. As it turned out, Morgan didn't mind. He'd been too wound up to sleep anyway. He said he'd take advantage of the long drive back to Virginia to catch up on his rest. No problem.

Anxious to be on their way, Rossi, Reid and Ana hurried through breakfast.

"So what happens now?" Ana was fascinated by the inside look at the workings of law enforcement. Even if it wasn't a particular area of interest for her, she wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to see the way the system functioned. And there was the additional attraction of learning about Spencer's professional life. She was under the impression that, as their lives began to interweave, she'd be sharing him with his job. A lot.

"Now we transport her to the nearest town that has a jail, file charges and let the slow wheels of justice begin to move." Rossi glanced at his watch. He wanted to see Hotch, but this time he also wanted to display respect for the little hospital and its staff by waiting for official visiting hours to start.

"Yeah, well…as long as the wheels pull her under and crush her, they can take as long as they want." Reid paused in the process of wolfing steak and eggs to deliver his opinion.

Millie's B&B didn't usually serve such substantial fare, but the little landlady was fluttering about, showing unexpected signs of reluctance to let her guests depart. As they packed their bags and Rossi settled their bill, he thanked her for her hospitality, handing her one of his cards. Printed on heavy stock, with the official FBI seal prominently displayed, it would soon find a home in a small frame. That frame would be given pride of place in Millie's entry hall…the first thing visitors would see…proof of her brush with the exciting, dark side of life that others would never know as intimately as she now did. It would be years before the shine of Millie's daring weekend… 'the time the _secret agents_ came to stay,' would dim to a low, but still noteworthy, glow. In local society, Millie was now a 'made woman.' And she knew it.

She stood on the porch and watched them stow their luggage in the hulking, black SUV, as well as that of the agent who'd remained behind…on _guard_ duty no less!...and walk down the street toward the hospital. Really, it had been such an eventful weekend! It would take at least two cups of chamomile tea and the rest of the day sharing this experience via a dozen phone calls to recover.

Millie would enjoy every minute.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"So when you guys arrest someone, it's basically the same procedure as when regular police do it?" Ana took advantage of the walk from the B&B to the hospital to nail down a few more facts.

"Exactly the same. We read them their rights and deliver them to whichever local agency deals with law enforcement. But, yeah, they get the right to an attorney, they get one phone call. It's all the same." Reid found he enjoyed telling Ana even the most mundane things. _Even if we could do it without words…this is so nice._

"_Did_ she make a call? It was pretty late when you guys got back."

"She called. Her office, I think she said."

"Kinda late to call work, don't'cha think?"

Reid's steps faltered. Rossi simply stopped dead. Running a hand over his face, he closed his eyes and gave a deep sigh, redolent with self-criticism.

Belatedly, Ana realized her companions weren't keeping pace. She halted and looked back at them. "What?"

"Usually someone stands by when a suspect makes a call." Reid looked a little crestfallen. "See, they have a right to make a call, but they have no right to any privacy once they've been taken in. And sometimes calls reveal useful information. That is, if anyone's listening. And we weren't."

"I must be getting old." Rossi resumed walking.

"Or maybe it's just it was late and you guys were tired?"

Rossi smiled despite this new worry. "Ana, you're too kind." He glanced at Reid. "Keep this one, kid."

Reid slipped his hand into hers. They walked the rest of the way in silence, speaking volumes through their interlaced fingers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Morgan had enjoyed his guard duty.

After Bescardi had cleaned up a bit, the night nurse had brought both new guests sandwiches and soup. Bescardi had barely touched her food. When she had rolled herself up in the bedding and turned her back to the dimly-lit hallway, Morgan had been relieved. He didn't like the doctor and if she remained unconscious for the rest of the night, he'd count it a blessing.

He had turned his attention to charming the night nurse. And the night nurse allowed herself to be charmed. He'd showed her his badge and regaled her with tales of past cases where he figured prominently as a hero both clever and physically formidable.

In weeks to come, the nurse's repetition of Morgan's tales would be Millie's prime competition for dominance within the local gossip circles. But Millie's greater imagination and ability to imply scandal where the young couple who'd been under her roof was concerned, would win the greater audience in the end.

What was left of the night passed quickly. Morgan was surprised when his new acquaintance said it was time for the shift change. The day nurse, although pleasant, was far too busy to pay much attention to the FBI agent standing sentinel at the end of the hall. She had to prepare for a day of meals, therapy, procedures, and anything else the head doctor might request.

Morgan subsided into an uncomfortable chair and wondered if it was too early to look in on Hotch. He remembered that the doctor had mentioned making a decision about putting his boss into a cast at the end of forty-eight hours. Whatever the outcome, Morgan was sure the man would be tied to a desk for the next couple of weeks. He sighed. Whenever their alpha-wolf was leashed, the team had the double burden of working without Hotch's onsite experience on cases that took them into the field, as well as his increasing irritation at being sidelined. It wasn't a good situation for anyone.

He was beginning to wonder when Bescardi would show signs of waking up when Rossi, Reid and Ana rounded the corner. Their expressions and purposeful strides alerted him. Morgan stood up, wondering what could have changed during the last few hours to give his companions such an air of urgency.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The elderly doctor walked into his hospital, stopped, and raised his chin. He might have been listening. Or he might have been sniffing the air. It was hard to tell. His staff didn't try anymore. They enjoyed working with him and that was enough.

He gave a deep sigh. The full contingent of strangers associated with the patient whose knee had been damaged was here, sending messages of concern and worry flying about the premises.

And there was a new presence. A very disturbed one. A very dangerous one. It didn't embody danger of the physical variety as much as it did the emotional, traumatic type. It was someone who would fixate on a goal and crush every obstacle, human or otherwise, in order to attain it. The doctor let his head hang. He'd encountered this type before. Very unpleasant.

But first things first. He needed to make his morning rounds.

He thought he might begin with the man in 312. He reminded himself to keep an eye on the young couple, too. He was still debating sitting them down for a timely discussion. He hadn't decided on a course of action yet. But the sooner he discharged the patient in 312, the better. When he left, all the upset and turbulence would follow him.

And the kindly, old physician, as much as he liked the gentle soul with the rough occupation in 312, wanted peace restored to this sanctuary he'd built in the wilderness.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Uh-oh. What's wrong?" Morgan locked eyes with Rossi first.

"Check your call history."

"What?"

"Your call history! Check it! We should've been paying more attention when Carol used your phone last night. Find out what number she called."

Morgan flipped his phone open, focusing on the keypad and feeling clumsy with all eyes on him. When he had accessed the records, he gulped and then turned stricken eyes on Rossi.

"Strauss. She called information and then she called Strauss."

"Son of a…" Rossi gave the doorjamb a slam with the side of his fist as he barged into Bescardi's room. She was sitting up, back propped against the wall at the head of the bed. It was her confident smirk that tipped Rossi over the edge.

"What the hell happened to you, Carol?" He tore the covers away from her, hoping to make her feel exposed, vulnerable. It didn't work. Still fully-clothed, she straightened her legs out before her, crossing them at the ankles, echoing her air of defensiveness by crossing her arms as well. She fixed him with a defiant look.

"I told you when this whole thing began, Carol. I'd destroy you and your clinic and your reputation if you breathed even one word about Dr. Reid. What happened? Did you spend so much time around minds so far beyond your own that you lost all reason? All common sense?" He glared at her and shook his head from side to side. "You…are…certifiable."

Bescardi uncrossed her arms. Folding her hands in her lap, she radiated a self-satisfied smugness.

"David. Did you really think you could _control_ me? _Dictate_ to me?" Her smile grew broader. "Go ahead. Do…your…worst. I've already left full disclosure about Dr. Reid with a Mrs. Strauss. She is your boss, yes?" Bescardi crossed her arms behind her head, giving the impression of someone with no worries, someone whose future contained only the most wonderful fortune possible.

"Once your Dr. Reid is 'outed,' as you call it, I will be exonerated. My career will soar. I will be sought after and there will be no end of funding and incentives offered, if I will only consent to continue my work."

And then, she laughed.

Rossi's stomach had dropped into his shoes with sick apprehension. But the sound of Carol's mirth arrested the plunging sensation. _She's crazy. She's truly insane. Not the drooling, shocked kind we thought she was last night, but still…totally deranged. No one will believe someone like this. Not if they dig below the surface._

Rossi tried to maintain his calm. There was nothing left to say to this damaged woman. He felt the need to be in the presence of her opposite. Someone whose intelligence was leavened with kindness. Someone whose dedication and ambition weren't merely a facet of his ego.

_Hotch. I need to talk to Hotch. I need someone who'll banish the stink of this bitch._

Rossi backed out of Bescardi's room. Telling Morgan to stay on guard just a little longer, he headed toward room 312 with Reid and Ana in tow.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey, Baby Girl."

"I'm not talking to you. You went God-knows-where into God-knows-what kind of danger and you didn't tell me. And you didn't take J.J. or Emily. But mostly 'cause you didn't tell me."

"I know. I'm sorry and I promise I'll make it up to you. All of you. But you gotta do something for me now."

"I don't see why I should."

"It's a Strauss thing. That's why."

Garcia's sharp gasp on the other end of the line, let Morgan know she grasped the gravity of the situation.

"Can you access the inter-office phone system and see if she's listened to her voicemail calls?"

Garcia's typing was so rapid, it almost sounded like one uninterrupted noise instead of the depression of individual keys.

"Checking….checking….and…_Yes_! She _has_ listened to her messages." She waited for a word of thanks or praise for her expertise in finding him a quick answer, but she heard only weighty silence. "Morgan? That's good, right? Right?"

"Oh, Baby Girl…that is bad. That is _so_ bad."

The click as Morgan disconnected left Garcia wondering just _how_ bad. And for whom.


	58. Variation on a Theme

"Well, son, let's see how you're doin' this morning."

The old doctor had collared an orderly along the way to room 312. Now he released Hotch's leg from the sling that had kept it elevated. With gentle, sure hands, he probed the knee. Satisfied that the swelling was much reduced… nearly gone in fact…he nodded at the orderly.

"Time to get this boy on his feet."

Hotch turned a wary eye on the assistant. He was a large man. Even in loose-fitting, pale blue scrubs, there was evident muscle. Hotch didn't like being manhandled. Didn't matter if it was friendly handling. The orderly slipped careful hands around the patient's ribcage and was about to tighten his grip, preparatory to lifting him, when the doctor held up his hand.

"Wait. Maybe he'd like to try on his own." He motioned the aid to step back. With an understanding smile, he nodded at Hotch. "Take it slow. Sit on the edge of the bed for a minute."

After a couple of days lying prone, Hotch's head was swimming as he scrambled to get his feet on the floor. It took him by surprise.

"Lean forward a bit, son. Put your head down. It'll pass."

Hotch did as he was told and felt the sensation recede.

"Now stand up and try to keep most of your weight on your good leg at first." The doctor motioned the orderly closer. He had a feeling this patient would always overdo and try to cover any weakness with a brave front. He was right.

Hotch pushed himself up, balancing on his left leg and promptly tilted to one side. He gave the orderly a sheepish, but grateful, look when two strong hands arrested his fall and held him up until he regained equilibrium. After a moment, the orderly stepped back, but not too far, hands hovering in readiness.

In small, cautious increments, Hotch let the weight on his injured leg increase. When he realized he could stand without pain, he shifted, adding more until his weight was evenly distributed. He drew himself up to his full height and turned a delighted look on the smiling physician.

"It's not even sore! How's that possible?"

"You're healthy and strong. That's the type that heals fastest." The doctor nodded toward the orderly, also sporting a grin at this patient's surprised joy in his own recovery. "He can have his clothes now. You'll need to get the bag his friends left for him." Once his assistant had gone, the doctor turned grave. "I'd like a word with you, son, before I send in your discharge papers. Sit down."

Hotch lowered himself to the narrow mattress, expecting a lecture about being more careful in the outdoors and some advice on taking it easy for a few days. No jogging…that sort of thing. He was surprised when the doctor took a seat beside him. Strong fingers took hold of his chin, turning his head so eye contact was unavoidable.

"Are you alright with what happened to you, son?"

Hotch blinked. "Sure. It's not the first time I've been hurt. I don't _like_ it, but it goes with the job. It's just part of the territory."

It was unsettling the way the doctor held his gaze. He wanted to drop his eyes and contemplate something safe and nonjudgmental, like the floor, but he couldn't.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about." He released Hotch's chin and pulled back, the better to survey the whole man. He brushed some hair back from his patient's forehead, letting his hand linger at the side of the thin face. "Well, you're a good boy, and a smart man. If you ever feel things are getting too difficult…as though you're out of place or lost…come back. I'll sort you out. But…" The doctor rose, with a small grunt of effort. "…I think you'll be alright. Maybe a little changed, but still…alright."

He gave Hotch a kind smile, patted his head, and left without a backward glance.

Hotch was unsure how to interpret the conversation. So he did what usually worked for him: he filed it away to take out and examine at a later date, after it had had some time to settle in his mind.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As soon as it was delivered, Hotch raided his go-bag. He had just finished buckling his belt when he was invaded. Rossi, Reid and Ana burst into his room and stopped short, staring.

"They're letting you go?" Rossi's eyes went to his friend's knee, despite the jeans that hid the injured joint from view.

"Yeah. I guess it wasn't as bad as it looked. Or felt." Hotch bent over to tie the worn laces of his tennis shoes.

"Speaking of bad things…"

The Unit Chief's head snapped up, instantly alert. He looked at Reid, a small frown creasing his brow. "Something tells me time is important, right?"

Reid nodded. _Extremely. Hotch, we made a mistake._

Rossi looked from one to the other, mild irritation evident in his voice. "Come on, you two. Don't go all weird on me. You can go weird later on your own time. Now, we have a problem."

Reid gave Ana a quizzical look and spoke softly, for her ears alone. "I didn't even know I was doing it that time. That _is_ weird."

"And something to be on guard for." She placed a hand on his arm. "I don't think you should talk to Hotch _that_ way unless you have to. We still don't know if it's good for him, you know?"

Reid nodded and turned back to listen to Rossi bringing their leader up to date…in normal, verbal fashion.

"…and we know she left Strauss voicemail. There's no way to tell exactly what was on it, but it _was_ about Reid. If finding incriminating images on Garcia's flash drive was problematic _last_ time, hearing Carol's revelations will be nothing short of catastrophic _this_ time. She'll put two and two together, Aaron."

Hotch's eyes were unfocused. It was the look he got when he was calculating. Anything from how to talk his way through a hostage situation to figuring the tip on a restaurant bill. Reid was keeping well out of his leader's mind, but, even so, something was seeping through. And it made a slow, sly grin spread across his face a split second behind the same expression showing up on Hotch's.

"Same situation as last time, but different media." Hotch's smile grew predatory. "We'll just do…"

"…a variation on a theme." Reid finished for him. As the two agents traded wicked grins, Rossi shook his head and sighed.

_I asked them to keep that weird stuff for later._

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Once again, Garcia's fingers were flying. She had her orders and nothing short of a ground zero, nuclear cataclysm would prevent her from carrying them out.

The requests went out to every friend and acquaintance she could find from the names supplied by the team. Prentiss had even come up with a number of overseas contacts who would, in turn, contact as many people as they could think of who would consent to being involved.

It took some organization, but, once started, the prank took on a momentum of its own.

It was the voicemail equivalent of a chain letter. Only as wide as it spread, it ultimately ended at Strauss' office voicemail. Hotch cobbled together the rough outline for everyone to follow when they called the numbers Garcia supplied.

The only constants were: 1. Spencer Reid's name must be included as the main subject; 2. Terms like 'telepathy,' 'clairvoyance,' and 'ESP' had to figure prominently and be attributed to aforementioned main subject; 3. A plot about world domination must be mentioned and/or, 4. End-of-world, apocalyptic warnings at the appearance of the Reid-creature; and finally, 5. Each caller must either sign off with a request for a return call to 'Doctor Carol Bescardi,' or claim to be calling on her behalf…or claim to _be_ her.

The sign-off led each participant to think the prank was two-edged, tormenting the person they called as well as Carol-whoever, who would no doubt receive her own fallout from the joke. It was amazing how doubling the joke's victims gave the callers so much more enjoyment, which translated into incentive to play the game.

Garcia added her own touches about a prerequisite for making the call being the consumption of three tequila shooters or a six-pack of Dos Equis beer. She also encouraged speaking in outrageously fake Italian accents.

When she had finished, the tech analyst watched calls pouring into the BAU in a steadily increasing deluge. She sat back and hugged herself. It was so very reassuring to find so many people all over the globe who were willing to engage in a meaningless, practical joke without requiring any explanation whatsoever.

When the rush order went out for Section Chief Strauss' phone to be deactivated and a new number assigned to her line, Garcia made a call of her own.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey, mama. Tell me something good."

"Why 'tell' when it's so much more fun to 'show?'"

The deep laugh at the end of the line released Garcia's own earthy chuckle.

"Seriously, how's it going?"

"Tell our diabolically mischievous leader: 'mission accomplished'….Penelope Garcia, goddess of vehement voicemail and maven of mayhem, over and out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Erin Strauss stared at her phone. What had once been a tool for communication had morphed into a malevolent entity. It repulsed her and until her new number was assigned, she had pushed the offending object into the far corner of her office. But it was still there. Mocking her.

It had started with the voicemail awaiting her arrival that morning. A woman with an Italian accent had been hissing at her. At first it had sounded as though the caller didn't want to be overheard. But when Strauss realized the content of the call was similar to the message she'd been left months ago concerning Dr. Reid, she thought it might be the same person. While she'd been looking through her personal notes…the ones she kept with details about everything related to Aaron Hotchner's team…the phone had rung again.

Innocently, openly, Strauss had answered. When another oddly accented voice had begun ranting at her about Dr. Reid and the end of the world, she had stared at the receiver with a shocked look of distaste. When she realized that seven other calls had come through and landed in her voicemail while she was listening to the first…well, that's when the horror began.

It wouldn't stop. There were too many to even _suggest_ tracing. And every one a different caller, judging by voices and accents. And every one about the strange powers of Dr. Spencer Reid…although some started slurring and calling him Spender or Spinster…some of those ended by winding down into hiccups and muffled laughter.

For one horrible moment, Section Chief Strauss was transported back to her adolescence…the incident of the pizza deliveries….dozens of them…all ordered sent to her parents' home by voices intent on driving her mad. Just like this.

She put through an emergency order for her number to be disconnected and a new one assigned. She unplugged her phone and consigned it to the far corner. Where it sat now…mocking her.

She didn't know how or why, but she was sure it had something to do with Agent Hotchner's team. The men hadn't shown up for work. Agent Jarreau had given her a vague excuse about a guys-only trip to the country and something about car trouble.

Strauss stared at the traitorous phone in the corner. She could just imagine the BAU men, drunk in the woods, egging each other on to play a joke on the Big Boss.

She really hoped when she got home she wouldn't spend the evening fending off pizzas.


	59. Travels with Doc

Hotch was reading through his release forms.

Even if they were standard, his lawyer's background wouldn't let him just sign and run. The team knew better than to hurry him. He was just a touch obsessive about some things...like dressing well…and battling the cowlicks in his hair…and pretending he'd won and the cowlicks were tamed…and never signing anything without reading it in its entirety.

Rossi took the opportunity to bring their SUV up the street from Millie's. When it came time to leave, he wanted to be able to bundle Bescardi into the back as quickly as possible and then forget her until it was time to dump her on someone else's doorstep. He didn't want to be caught walking any distance with her…_escorting_ her. Her company disgusted him too much.

Morgan was fading fast. The sleepless night was catching up with him. But he insisted he could stand guard for another hour or so while the others tied up any loose ends preparatory to leaving.

Reid and Ana stood together just outside the hospital. Even a few feet of separation seemed to make it easier for her to endure the emotional impact of ailing patients and concerned family and friends. Neither noticed the elderly doctor until he touched Reid on the shoulder. When they turned, a little surprised that someone had come upon them unawares, he motioned them toward a stone bench edging on the street.

As they sat down, Ana gave a small gasp and slipped her hand into Reid's. _I __**knew**__ there was something about him!_

_Wha'd'you mean?_

_I can't __**sense**__ him…nothing! There's nothing there!_

There was a pause, during which Reid tried to read something…anything…from the doctor, and during which the doctor himself stood before them, shaking his head.

_I'm not getting anything either! This is weird._

_So weird…_

_**Stop it, you two.**_

The 'voice' that intruded on Reid's and Ana's thoughts was louder and stronger than anything they'd experienced…even from each other. But both obeyed and fell silent, verbally and mentally. The old doctor's lips compressed as he surveyed the young couple. When he spoke, his voice was kind, but firm.

"You two need to watch yourselves."

"Sir?" Reid's eyes were wider than usual; his voice a little scratchier.

"You can't go around _entering_ and _reading_ whomever you want. Understand?"

"No." It was a very small, very crestfallen response.

The doctor peered over the tops of his glasses, taking a closer look at each downcast face before him. He focused on Reid. "At your age, you should have developed more control. Why haven't you?"

Reid looked at a loss. Ana stepped in. "He hasn't been able to…_read_ people all his life. It just started a while ago." She raised her chin defiantly. "And he's done some amazing things with it. He found my s-sister…and he s-saved H-Hotch…and…he…" When she started crying, the doctor took a step back. His look of puzzlement gave way to sympathy.

"Ahhh. You're an empath." He turned his entire attention to Ana, a slow smile replacing the stern expression. "And you're too close to my hospital for comfort…and…" He turned his head slightly, as though he were listening to her. "…well, well…and you're falling in love." He beamed at her with the tolerant fondness of someone recalling his own heart's adventures of long ago.

Ana looked mortified. She pulled her hand away from Reid's and tried hard to stop all the emotion she was feeling from spilling out and drowning them all.

"Come with me, both of you." When the doctor placed a hand under her elbow, it was more than a courtly gesture of helping her to her feet. She felt a wave of warmth and calm. Like an incoming tide, it overran her inner turbulence, filling her with peace. But it wasn't something imposing or forcing itself on her. It was like being given a marvelous gift. _I have this to offer. Take as much as you wish._

Ana sniffed and wiped at her eyes. She did feel a little ragged after everything they'd been through. She had to admit, Spencer's world was very different from hers. It would take some getting used to, if they chose to continue on together.

Reid was becoming more confused by the moment. First he was being scolded like a child. Then Ana had burst into tears. Now this strange man was escorting Ana someplace and looking over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at Reid's failure to follow them.

The young agent stood up. Glancing at his watch, he wondered how much longer Hotch would need to study his discharge forms. Reid wanted to be on his way home. He hoped Hotch wouldn't get distracted passing by a mirror and try to make his hair behave. They could be stuck here forever.

Feeling a little out of control…_Just what that doctor accused me of!_...he trailed Ana and the old gentleman down the street.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He brought them to an old stone wall several hundred yards away from the hospital. Almost on the edge of town, it was a tumbled gathering of boulders…a last crude mark of civilization, holding its own against the ever-encroaching forest.

"Now, sit down and breathe…both of you. Relax. I'd forgotten how _alert_ young people are all the time." The doctor followed his own advice and inhaled deeply. When he continued, it was almost as though he was talking to himself. "Always anxious. Always ready to react. Like weapons with hair triggers." His mouth quirked up at one corner as he turned a wry grin on Reid. "In _your_ line of work, I imagine that's an asset, but you need to learn how to change it up a little. If not for your own peace of mind, then…" He tipped his head toward Ana. "…for your lady's."

Reid didn't know what to say. He sensed that standing before him were answers to questions he didn't even know to ask. It felt like a tremendous opportunity threatening to slip away if he failed to grab it. The thought brought a frisson of panic in its wake. The doctor was frowning at him and he was speechless. It was one of the rare times when Reid felt…stupid.

"Ah, no." The physician ran a hand over his weathered face. "You poor child. You're the second anomaly from your little group. I was worried about the injured man and how he's handling your…_intrusion_…, but I didn't realize you're not handling it much better yourself." The doctor sat down beside Reid. With no preamble and no explanation, but with infinite care, he laid one hand across Reid's forehead, much as he had done with Hotch. With his other, he grasped the young agent's wrist, pulling him around a bit so he was facing more toward the doctor than anywhere else.

Reid stiffened, but when he felt the same calm warmth Ana had, he closed his eyes and let himself relax. Then he let himself open up, mentally, to this stranger. It took more trust than he thought he had in him, but one thing Reid could never pass up was the chance to gain knowledge. And he had a feeling he was being offered more than he could ever have imagined.

Slowly, the old doctor released Reid's wrist. His hand crept to his chest, settling over his heart.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It began with a chuckling sensation. It made Reid feel like laughing right along with it. He prevented himself, but a brief smile escaped nonetheless. His brain felt as though someone were _tickling_ it, coaxing it open,…making twisted, tortured paths relax into smooth walkways. It felt good. At the same time it felt completely unnatural. His mind was never this clear or quiet. It was always leaping and bounding on several different levels in dozens of different directions about hundreds of different subjects.

_This is control. This can give you peace…let you rest. It can also give you direction. Learn to do __**this**__ and you can direct your focus. Your power can become…considerable. Understand?_

_Not sure._

The low, sweet chuckling touched him again. Reid felt his uncertainty and his effort to grasp this concept of 'control' fall silent and smooth.

_I'm going to…explore…you. With your permission._ There was no response. The young doctor let himself fall still. The old doctor took that as an invitation.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi watched the trio consisting of Reid, Ana and the elderly physician, wander off toward the edge of town and the border of trees that were the beginning of the ancient, primeval wilderness that had almost been Hotch's graveyard.

He parked the SUV and entered the hospital.

Hotch was still poring over his release papers. When Rossi found him, he couldn't help a rueful smile. He wondered if anyone else on the team knew that reading legalese and forms and reports was how their leader relaxed. How he centered himself. When they traveled, the others brought out books or puzzles, music or cards. Only Hotch would seek an isolated corner and burrow into files he'd brought along. Everyone thought he was a workaholic…and he was…but Rossi knew the end-of-case nosing into paperwork was Hotch's escape.

Clearly something was bothering him now and he was using the hospital's official forms to comfort himself. After watching for a moment, Rossi approached the Unit Chief.

"Hey." He draped an arm around the sitting figure and gripped one shoulder. "Time to hit the road, Aaron. Wrap it up already."

"Mmmm."

Rossi gave the shoulder under his hand a gentle, continuous shake. "Come on…We'll find you something else to read. Or you can ask for some blank forms to take with you."

"Uh huh."

The gentle shake grew a little more forceful, moving Hotch's whole upper body from side to side. "Think of it, Aaron. Consent forms. Release forms. Admission forms."

What Rossi was doing could no longer be considered affectionate patting. More like…mauling. But it worked. Hotch broke his concentration and looked up, wondering why he was being alternately pushed and pulled off balance.

"Wha…? Dave, stop it!"

"It's time to leave. Bring your paperwork to the front desk. I'll go round up Carol and Morgan. Okay?"

"Sure. Yeah."

Rossi gave the younger man a one-armed hug and then left.

Hotch signed his release. Picking up his go-bag, he took a last look around at the hospital room. He didn't quite know why, but he was almost reluctant to leave it. Something good had happened to him here, but he couldn't remember all of it. All he knew was he had felt accepted and…cherished…in a way he'd never known could be possible. And the old physician had invited him to return for some reason. He'd said he would 'sort' Hotch out.

_I'm not quite sure what that means._

But Hotch decided that whatever had happened, right now, in the moment, he felt 'sorted.' He felt right. For the first time in months. For the first time since Reid had revealed himself in that unfortunate feed store.

Hotch knew the doctor had done something to him. He didn't know what. And he didn't know why. But he _did_ know he was grateful.

He sighed and went in search of the others.

It was time to go home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Rossi found Morgan keeping a faithful, but groggy, watch over Bescardi.

"Cuff her, Derek. We're moving out."

"Okay, but I call shotgun. I plan on sleeping most of the drive home, but I'm _not_ gonna close my eyes anywhere within reach of Madame Mad Scientist." He pulled his handcuffs from his belt and entered the room where the alleged kidnapper was reclining on her bed, flipping through a magazine.

With a smug smile, she extended her arms in front of her, wrists crossed.

"At last. I wondered what was taking you all so long. Really, I'm looking forward to getting back to civilization and continuing my work." Morgan kept silent, snapping the cuffs onto her with just a little more force than necessary. He pulled Bescardi to her feet and pushed her toward the door.

"Have you heard from your headquarters yet, David? Has anyone contacted you? A Mrs. Strauss perhaps?"

Rossi gave himself permission to be petty. "As a matter of fact, I did hear from the home office, Carol. A couple of hours ago. Seems everything's business as usual except for one small item. Our Section Chief, Erin Strauss? She had to have her phone disconnected." Bescardi's smile dimmed. "I don't remember the exact wording, but apparently she was tired of getting calls from some crazy lunatic about Dr. Reid and ESP. She's having her number changed so it won't happen again."

Bescardi's face transformed into a feral mask. Her voice, a venomous hiss. "I…don't…believe…you…"

Rossi shrugged. "I don't really care what you believe." He brightened for a moment. "Of course, you could always use your requisite one phone call to check…." He snapped his fingers in belated remembrance. "Ohhhh. That's right….you already used you one phone call. Well, too bad. Maybe next time, Carol."

Morgan roused from his fatigue enough to appreciate the exchange. His deep belly laugh accompanied Dr. Bescardi all the way to the waiting SUV.

Rossi saw Hotch watching as they loaded the handcuffed doctor into the back seat. His face was stoic, unreadable. He wondered if there'd be a fight between Morgan and their leader for the passenger seat. Neither one would be comfortable sharing space with Bescardi.

Then he remembered the rental car. He still had the keys. Hotch's keys. He fished them out of his pocket and grinned. He'd drive the SUV with Morgan asleep beside him. Carol could have the whole back seat to herself. Reid, Hotch and Ana could leave as they'd arrived. In a separate car. Together.

_Perfect. Now, all we need are the kids._

Rossi looked toward where he'd seen the old doctor taking Reid and Ana.

_I wonder what they're doing…and what's taking so long?_


	60. The Healer Speaks

The old doctor peered into Spencer Reid's darkest corners.

With the skill born of years…decades…of experience, he went lightly, leaving no footprints on the younger man's psyche. He watched a painful, lonely childhood unfold. He saw it make its mark, and wasn't entirely sad for the scars it had left. After all, the person forged in those flames had survived to become the man before him. And the deeper he went, the more remarkable he found this young man's journey.

He hesitated when he encountered the area dealing with Reid's drug addiction. _Ahhhh. So some of these gifts are not natural, but forced. That explains the lack of control._ He compared Reid to his friend with the injured knee. Although he found many similarities, what he came away with was heightened concern for their bond. It was too late to undo it. He would have to educate the one to be aware of danger signs in the other.

But mostly the old man saw kindness and an extraordinary intelligence. There was a sense of ethics that pushed this youngster to try and fix the world. Part of the incentive was a hope that the cruelties and loneliness he himself knew, would never be experienced by another. It was a vain hope. A hope peculiar to the young.

The doctor smiled when he found events concerning romantic adventures. There had been precious few, but, as with his view of healing the world of its ills, this young man lived with eternal hope. The doctor saw a heart already lost in dreams of a future with a family at its center.

_Well, that's much more likely to come true than a world without pain._

When he had seen all he thought necessary, the old man withdrew. He removed his hands from Reid and observed him slowly opening his eyes, sensing the examination was over.

Reid knew the book of his life had been rifled and read, but he didn't feel violated. He in turn wanted to extend all his abilities and try to read this stranger who now knew him so intimately, but at the same time he wanted to demonstrate that he knew how to control himself. It was an almost immature desire to show how quickly he could learn something, once pointed in the right direction. He wanted to impress this man.

The old doctor smiled, reached out and patted Reid's knee.

"I understand you now. But you still need to learn to keep to yourself when dealing with others." He shrugged. "For the most part. I do see where it has proved necessary on occasion for you to…_intrude_…even _attack_."

"What _are_ you?" Reid felt Ana's hand slip into his as he asked the question and knew she was burning with curiosity, too.

"Already, you're seeing more clearly. Most would have asked me _who_ I am and expected to draw meaning from a name. An uninformative label shared by countless others." He stood up with a slight groan and gestured for the young couple to accompany him as he headed back toward his hospital.

"Knowing too much now won't benefit you, young man. Being told something is not like earning the knowledge yourself."

Reid recalled his discussion with Hotch and the difference between _knowing_ something and _owning_ the knowledge of it. He recognized the truth of what he was being told, but his brain was geared toward finding shortcuts and solutions…alternate ways of attaining goals. He was a creative thinker. What flashed across his thoughts now was the idea that, by accessing someone else's mind, he might be able to _absorb_ their experiences. _It could be a shortcut. Not saying I'd do it, but…just wondering…_

"Stop it. Now." There was no mistaking the old man's tone, but Reid couldn't help a small blip of rebellion from escaping.

_Just __**wondering**__…_

The doctor stopped walking, and rounded on the couple.

"You have the brains. You do _not_ have the wisdom. There are no shortcuts to wisdom, as you have just demonstrated. Even being told by two people…me and your friend with the hurt knee…you try to find a detour." _It doesn't exist. You will travel the road before you step by step. If you try to leap ahead, you will fail._

_How do you know all this? How can you be sure, if you've never tried yourself?_

"I know from having followed my own road for longer than either of you have been alive." Reverting to verbal communication, the doctor also resumed walking. "Even now, young man, you are disadvantaged. If you had known your talents during childhood, you wouldn't be asking. Yours are the questions of a fledgling. I realize you don't know any better. _You_ must realize that I can only teach you what is appropriate to the age of your _abilities_…which are very, very young."

Reid bit his lip in frustration. Then he decided to ask for something else. "Okay. If you can't teach me about _my_self, can you tell me about _your_self?"

He was rewarded with a warm smile. "Now _that_ is a wise question. Let's walk to the other end of town and back.…And walk a bit slower. I'm old, you know….And we'll need the extra time."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid and Ana slowed their pace and heard the doctor's tale.

He had been gifted from birth and had learned to hide his differences very early in life. Reid had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't speaking of one or two generations' time. His story had the taste of history about it. Reid picked up a picture from the doctor of a time when people like them were forced to flee for their lives. When fiery death sentences were handed out in the belief that flames would cleanse the earth of such abomination.

He squeezed Ana's hand, needing the comfort of touch. The tale continued.

"There will come a time when you will need to decide where to direct your talents. Right now you are undifferentiated. A Jack-of-all-trades, so to speak. But someday you will know that you can specialize."

Reid looked puzzled.

"Don't worry, young man. You'll know and you'll be ready to make a choice. Just as I did."

Ana had been silent, but now she spoke and couldn't help but sound a bit reverent. "You chose healing." She was rewarded with an indulgent smile.

"Yes. And, it had an unexpected benefit. I could heal many of the ravages of age in my own body. But I didn't know longevity would be mine when I made the choice. I chose healing because that was how I could do the most good in the world around me. I refused to let the loss and sorrow of my early life hobble my abilities. It would have been easy to say 'mankind has been mean to me, therefore I will not help man.' It wasn't until I had made the commitment and discovered the joy of helping those who would never understand me, that I found I could also heal myself.

"But that's _my_ journey. Even if someday you choose to be a healer, yours will be a different path."

Reid was beginning to comprehend the enormity of what lay before him. He felt himself begin to sweat and had to admit he was overwhelmed.

The old doctor looked at Ana again. "Your way is much easier, young lady. You are an empath and, although I see some precognition as well, your gift will always be to understand…to comfort…to sympathize…to help those who hide their wounds." His voice took on a teasing, but still kind, tone. "You two could complement each other admirably, depending on the choices your young man makes."

Ana laughed and, to Reid's surprise, slipped her other hand into the crook of the old man's arm, linking the three of them as they strolled down the street. The doctor chuckled and patted her hand where it rested on top of his elbow. "Now, before you leave with your friends, do you have any smaller questions for me? Something less all-inclusive than 'What are you?'"

Reid blinked. What he really wanted was a chance to digest what he'd been told; maybe to discuss it with Ana. But, again, opportunity was something he couldn't resist…wouldn't waste. He made a supreme effort to turn his mind to other issues.

"The handprint on Hotch's chest…what is it? Did we do that? Is he okay?"

They had reached the far end of the town limit and slowly turned back. Reid could see the team loitering around the SUV and the car they'd rented at the airport days ago. There wasn't much time left to find answers. There were far too many questions.

"Ah, that. I didn't know what you were when you arrived with your hurt friend. You almost lost him. Did you know that?" Both Reid and Ana nodded. Ana's breath caught as the memory surfaced of holding Hotch's life close, refusing to let him slide away.

"Well, I had to grab onto him pretty hard to bring him all the way back. You could think of it as burning my will into him…to supplement his own. The handprint is like a psychic burn scar. I mentioned it right away, because I didn't want any of you, should you see it, linking me to it." He gave a rueful grin. "As you can see, some things never change…or change very little. People like me…like _us_ still must hide." He sighed. "I entered you friend again, yesterday, and finished the healing process. Part of that dealt with the handprint. It's gone now."

"So Hotch's okay?"

"For now. But…keep an eye on him. He isn't meant for this…any of it."

Reid's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. He felt a little sick once, but I think I fixed that."

"You treated the symptom, not its cause." They were nearing the SUV. Morgan was yawning and glancing at his watch…a sure sign that he wanted Reid and Ana to hurry up.

"But I got rid of the thing that was bothering him! I saw it go away." Reid's desire to hear that Hotch was fine bordered on desperation.

"He isn't meant for this," the doctor repeated. "Unfortunately, you and your friend are now connected. Keep out of his mind, but be aware, too. If he seems…strange…if you think he needs help, well, I'm here. You can contact me through the hospital."

On that somber note, the trio walked a few more steps in silence. It was Ana who broke it with a question that she couldn't resist asking.

"Sir? How old are you?"

The old physician laughed.

"Numbers, like names, my dear,…are meaningless."

On that note, they reached the SUV. The doctor looked up as he came abreast of Hotch. He patted the Unit Chief's chest in passing and continued on into the hospital's main entrance. At the threshold, he turned and smiled one last time at Reid and Ana.

"Have a safe journey, young man. Choose your road carefully."


	61. The End of the Road

Morgan yawned and looked after the doctor's departing figure. "What does he mean, 'choose your road carefully'? This town only has the one."

Hotch shrugged. "I think he was speaking figuratively. And probably purely for Reid's benefit."

"Here." Rossi tossed Hotch's keys at him. "You guys don't have to get any closer to Dr. Bescardi than you are right now. She's riding in the back with Morgan and me."

"Are we driving all the way back, or just to that airport and then flying?" Despite everything they'd been through, reluctance to break up the group colored Reid's question. The SUV would need to be driven the entire way back to Quantico, but not everyone had to accompany it. Hotch, Reid and Ana exchanged looks.

"I think it'd be nice to, you know, _caravan_ back." Hotch's voice grew softer. "I kind of want the time to think about…stuff."

"Me, too." Reid's gaze was locked on his boss.

"Me three." Ana chimed in. She couldn't imagine getting on a plane and leaving Reid and Hotch. _Not yet. We all need time to adjust before returning to our regular lives._

Oblivious to the looks it got him from Morgan and Rossi, Reid reached out and traced a line down Hotch's chest with one finger. After a moment, he drew back, reminding himself to stay out of the man's mind. He'd been warned. It was up to him to follow through. Even if he didn't really understand _what_ he was following through on. Even more confounding to Morgan and Rossi, Hotch didn't seem to notice being touched. Mentally, he was somewhere else completely.

The moment broke when Rossi clapped his hands. "Okay, kids, here's the plan. Tupper Lake is the closest town that has a jail. We drop Carol off and, from there, we caravan it to Quantico. Only _not_ the way we did coming out, Morgan." He fixed the younger agent with his best don't-cross-me glare. "We're stopping for meals and we're spending the night at a decent motel…if I can find one out here."

"Wha'd'you mean about the way you guys came out?" Reid looked from Rossi to Morgan and back.

"I mean _that_." Rossi gestured toward the back seat of the SUV.

Warily, Hotch and Reid stepped closer to the official FBI vehicle and peered through the darkened glass. A handcuffed Dr. Bescardi glowered back at them from where she half-reclined on what appeared to be a nest of empty potato chip bags and candy wrappers. The occasional glint of an aluminum beverage can peeped out from the debris.

"Jeez. What happened? You guys gut a vending machine or something?"

Morgan roused from his bleary, half-asleep state. "Nah. We just like to keep _all_ the trash in the back, you know?"

Even through the thickened, bullet-proof glass they could hear a rapid string of vehement Italian pouring from Bescardi. Judging by Rossi's winces and flinches, it was less than complimentary.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A few hours later, both vehicles pulled into Tupper Lake, another small town centered around a very obvious main street with businesses and government offices lined up neatly along its length.

The county sheriff's office was easy to find. Two patrol cars were parked in front of the small, brick façade. If that hadn't tipped the agents off, the large man in a khaki-colored uniform lounging on the sidewalk, chatting amiably with what looked like a group of local farmers, was a dead giveaway.

"I've got this." Rossi waved the others to stay where they were. Bescardi had spent the trip haranguing her escorts in a blend of languages. She'd run out of anything creative to curse them with after the first twenty minutes, but kept lashing out, primarily because she knew it was preventing Morgan from getting any sleep. Even his trusty ipod and favorite music…staples that always traveled with him…couldn't drown her out.

Rossi dragged the doctor out of the back seat, accompanied by a flurry of candy wrappers. The sight of a handcuffed woman and the brusque way she was propelled toward the sheriff's office caught the attention of every pedestrian and shopkeeper on Main Street.

"Morning, Sheriff." Rossi kept a firm grip on Bescardi's arm, flashing his badge with his free hand.

"FBI?" The sheriff pushed the brim of his hat up and scratched his forehead. "I don't think we've ever had one of you guys out here…have we, boys?" The flock of farmers offered a muted chorus of 'no's and 'not hardly's.

"Believe me, it's not a _good_ thing when we show up." Rossi thrust Bescardi forward. "Think you could start the wheels turning on this one?"

"Sure. What'd you pick 'er up for?" The sheriff looked the doctor up and down…attention she didn't appreciate, judging by the Italian words she spat in his direction.

"Kidnapping, endangerment, production of an hallucinogen…" Rossi shrugged. "The list goes on and on."

"Ya don't say?" The sheriff took Bescardi's other arm, officially accepting his new prisoner. "What's she sayin'? I'm guessin' that's Italian?"

"And your guess would be right." Rossi leaned in closer, with the look of someone imparting confidential information. "I believe she just compared you to a feminine hygiene product."

The sheriff sighed. "Well, I've been called worse. Just not by a lady, is all."

"Oh, that's no lady."

The sheriff listened to the doctor release another barrage of words he didn't understand. He glanced back at the trash that had fallen out of the SUV in Bescardi's wake and frowned.

"When you fill out the forms, go ahead and add littering to her rap sheet."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

While Rossi filed charges against Dr. Bescardi…and made sure the sheriff knew she'd already been granted her requisite phone call…Hotch got out from behind the wheel of the rental car to stretch his legs. After a moment, Reid followed him.

"I can drive if your leg's bothering you, Hotch."

"Huh? No. Thanks. I'm fine."

"But something's bothering you, right?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Hotch fell silent. He watched the small town going about its daily business for a few minutes. "Reid, I can't…I don't…" He gathered himself again, aware he wasn't communicating effectively. "Something happened in that hospital and I can't remember it."

"Something bad?"

"No! Just the opposite. I feel better than I have in a long time. I just don't know why, and, yeah…that bothers me." Hotch ducked his head and smiled at his uncharacteristic lack of certainty. "So I guess the short answer to your question is: Yes, something's bothering me."

"I'm sorry. Wish I could help, but…I can't."

Hotch looked up, eyes sharpening. "You sure?" Reid swallowed, dreading what was coming. "You helped me remember all about Dr. Bescardi. Maybe you could just…I don't know…take a look around and see if there's anything else I should know about?" Noticing Reid's expression, Hotch hastened to add, "I don't mean right _now_. Maybe when we stop for the night?...Reid?"

"Hotch…I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Faced with the younger agent's reluctance, Hotch pressed for an explanation. "Look, Reid, we came here to help you find answers. I don't wanna be the one who ends up leaving with more questions than I came up with."

"Hotch, I can't. One of the things I learned up here…I shouldn't have done anything to you in the first place. I don't want to make things worse."

"If that's something Bescardi told you…" His voice faded as he realized who the source must have been for most of Reid's answers. "The doctor. You and Ana were talking to him for a while. He's the one…" Hotch sounded as though he was talking to himself. "Huh… Well, I guess that's an answer in itself." He turned back toward the car. Reid came up beside him.

"Are you still okay?"

"What? Uh, yeah. Sure." But he seemed distracted. "Let's see if we can get Rossi to hurry it up."

Reid watched Hotch go into the sheriff's office. He moved without a limp or any sign of the ordeal he'd been through. To all outward appearances he was a strong, healthy man in his prime.

_Then why do I think there's something fragile about him? Is that just how I see him now?_

Reid was glad their team was close-knit and spent so much time together. It would make it easier to do as he'd been told and keep an eye on Hotch. Just in case.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Before reaching Quantico, Morgan conferenced J.J., Garcia and Prentiss. The story of a boy's-only camping trip and subsequent car trouble was adopted as the official alibi.

It hardly seemed necessary. When they returned, trailing dust and attitude, Strauss observed them from the catwalk, but didn't comment. The glare she gave Hotch was hard to miss, but when the office intercom announced a phone call for her, the Section Chief blanched.

"I think we may have scarred her for life." Rossi spoke quietly, watching Strauss approach the flashing light on a desk phone with open reluctance and a look of dread.

"Maybe." Hotch turned his stern face toward Garcia…and let it morph into a broad grin. "Good work, Garcia. Just make sure you don't have anything lying around that could incriminate us. You know…like a flash drive with recordings of some of the more _interesting_ calls on it?"

Garcia winced, recalling the avatar debacle. "No, sir. Nothing."

The mention of flash drives reminded Reid of the one Rossi had saved for him from Bescardi's lab. It was still in his pocket. It was the end of their third day of travel returning from upstate New York. They'd missed a whole week of work, and it was nearly the weekend again. He'd introduced Ana to the rest of the team, but wanted some time alone with her, as well as a chance to see what the flash drive contained.

"Guys, we're tired. We're gonna go home."

"_We_?" Both Morgan and Garcia were newly energized…galvanized…alert for opportunities to embarrass their young friend.

Before meeting Ana, Reid would have spluttered and blushed. Now, he braced himself for the good natured teasing. But it was Ana who forestalled it before it had truly begun. Without a word, she reached up, pulled Reid to her and gave him a long, thorough kiss.

"Yes. _We_ are going home." Her firm voice fell into the shocked silence surrounding them. "Take me home, Spencer."

Afterwards, talking among themselves once the couple had left, it was generally agreed that no one had ever seen Reid's smile as wide, nor had he ever left the office so eagerly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reid didn't get around to opening the flash drive until the next morning.

From a nest of tumbled blankets, he reached out a long arm and dragged his laptop closer. With Ana snuggled against his side, he read with lightning speed, absorbing statistics and summaries. It was the data concerning changes in his and Ana's blood chemistry whenever they used their abilities that made him pause. It was a finding that screamed for more research. He was almost sorry Bescardi hadn't been able to pursue it. Almost. Ana felt the change in him as he read.

"Do you think that's something we should look into ourselves?"

"Maybe. But…later." He pushed the laptop away and pulled Ana closer. For the rest of the weekend, Spencer Reid ignored his intellectual hunger, choosing instead to satisfy a different appetite.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bescardi was imprisoned without trial.

When her attorney saw the evidence against her, he derided it as circumstantial and assured his client he could get her case dismissed. However…when he saw the prime witness and victim was a high-ranking FBI agent with a spotless record and impeccable character, his confidence wilted, dried up, died, and blew away in the wind.

Much to Bescardi's disgust, bargaining was the only tactic her legal eagle would consider.

The lawyer was pleased when, by pleading guilty and sparing the government the cost of a trial, his client was given a fifteen year sentence. He was less pleased with the stream of Italian invectives thrown at him when Carol Bescardi was escorted away to begin serving her time.

Hotch was pleased he didn't have to testify in court. Despite his repaired memory, the experience wasn't something he'd wanted to relive. The team celebrated by taking him out to dinner and then ordering a pizza delivered to Strauss' house…payment due upon receipt.

Gradually, life returned to normal.

There were a couple of notable exceptions.

Reid smiled more and stayed late at work less.

After a few months, a small, tasteful diamond appeared on Ana's hand.

And finally, Morgan stopped worrying about Reid's love life and no longer tried to teach him how to meet women.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Carol Bescardi stood behind the counter and shoveled mashed potatoes onto each tin plate as it passed before her. But her mind was otherwise occupied.

It was on fire. She plotted and planned and worked out every detail of how she would regain her status in the scientific community. Rossi had been true to his word. Her clinic had dispersed due to lack of funding. Her reputation was in tatters not only because of her imprisonment…_After all, was not Galileo, another Italian scientist, persecuted and jailed?..._but because of the ridicule and jokes that sprang up and managed to cling to every bit of her work. She was destroyed.

_But it will only take one remarkable discovery to reinstate me!_

And Bescardi…no longer 'Dr.' since her license and credentials had been revoked…knew exactly what that miraculous discovery would be.

She watched the calendar with a Mona Lisa smile and used her allotted computer time to track Spencer Reid and Anastasia Kassandra Ashcroft. By Bescardi's calculations…and if things progressed as she was sure they would…Reid and Ana would have a child just entering adolescence when she regained her freedom.

By Bescardi's calculations, it would be an extraordinary offspring. From extraordinary parents.

And Carol Bescardi's calculations were rarely…ever…wrong…

For a discovery of that magnitude, she could wait.


End file.
